An Endless Supply of Rubies
by Ithunn
Summary: Amelia, the youngest daughter of Henry and Catherine, returns to an unfamiliar court after the death of her betrothed. When everyone seems to have an agenda, how is a girl with pure intentions to survive?
1. Prologue

**A/N: I am a college student, but not a history or english major, so I apologize in advance for any gramatical or historical errors. This story will be a mix of events from the show and events from history.**

* * *

6 July 1519

"Remind me again why I should sign this treaty, Woolsey?" the King grunted. "I signed a treaty last year to unite Europe."

It was the truth, and Woolsey knew this. Along with France, Spain, and the Holy See, England had pledge peace in Europe, but Woolsey knew that there were others in Europe to deal with, like the German states. Woolsey's proposed treaty, however, would secure an alliance with King Christian II, the king of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway.

Christian II's wife, Isabella of Austria, had given birth to a son the previous year, a boy named Hans who was first in line for Christian II's crowns. Since there was a possible betrothal between Mary and one of the French princes, it was Woolsey's idea to contract Amelia, Henry's youngest daughter, to Prince Hans. Marriage, after all, was the best way to secure an alliance.

"It will give you another European ally. The kingdoms of Norway and Sweden are across a channel just as we are, and strong naval powers as well. It would be beneficial to the kingdom to secure an alliance like this, Your Majesty," Woolsey replied, hurrying to keep up with the King's strides.

"Does it have to be Amelia?" Henry demanded, turning abruptly and stopping Woolsey in his tracks.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I'm afraid so," the older man responded. "Since Princess Mary is already contracted to the Dauphin, Princess Amelia is the only option."

A look of anger flashed briefly across Henry's face before he turned back around and continued his walk. Mary may have been the pearl of his world, but Amelia was an endless supply of rubies. Amelia took after Henry, with dark blonde hair and blue-green eyes. She was a cheerful child, but loved to sit quietly on her father's knee whenever she was present in court. Henry couldn't help but fall in love with the tiny girl.

Under the proposed treaty, Amelia would become a ward to Christian II and move to the family's estate in Copenhagen, where she would be raised to be Queen Consort of the land. He trusted the royal family to do a good job. Isabella of Austria was, after all, Catherine's niece. Something tugged at his heart, however, when he walked into the chamber where the treaty and the families waited and saw the biggest smile spread across his youngest daughter's face.

Woolsey went though all the formal business, and Henry and Christian signed the treaty. When the governess tried to lead Amelia away, Catherine gave her a small push, and whispered in her ear. Amelia's tiny head nodded, and she pulled out of her governess's grip and rushed over to her father, wrapping her small arms around his leg. He was surprised by the gesture, visibly so, before a warm smile filled his face and he reached down to stroke his daughter's hair

"Do I really have to go to Denmark, father?" her tiny voice asked. "I want to stay here with you!"

Henry lifted to the little girl to his hip. "I'm afraid so, sweetheart. But do not worry. Your mother and Mary and I will visit you in one years' time. Chin up, little one. You represent all of England now."

Amelia nodded furiously. Henry kissed his daughter on her forehead, and she kissed his cheek in return. Carefully, he set the girl on the floor and she took her blushing governess's hand and walked over to the Danish royal family. A wave of sadness washed over the king, and he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, thinking that he would never see his youngest daughter again.

* * *

1523

Everyone around her moved quickly, packing up the belongings of the royal family. Some of the servants wailed, and others grieved silently. Amelia, now six years old, watched the hustle and bustle with confusion. She stood next to her governess, a young woman named Barbara, and the children of the royal family. Five-year-old Hans, three-year-old Dorothea, and two-year-old Christine were with their governess, Anna, while Isabella directed those who were packaging the family's belongings.

"What is happening, Barbara? Why are they taking all our things away?" Amelia asked, tugging on Barbara's skirt.

Barbara knelt down to Amelia's level and took both of her hands. "Christian is no longer king, so we can't stay in Denmark any longer."

"Oh," Amelia replied. Her face scrunched up as she thought. "Does this mean that I get to go back to England?"

"No, child," Barbara responded. "The contract drawn up between your father and Christian states that you are to marry Hans, not the Prince of Denmark, so we must stay with them. But look on the bright side, little one. We are headed to the Hapsburg Netherlands!"

* * *

1526

Nine-year-old Amelia sat silently in her black mourning clothes, a tear running down her cheek as she listened to the funeral mass being delivered by the priest. Next to her in the pew sat her betrothed, Hans, now eight, a few tears falling from his eyes at the loss of his mother. Dorothea, now six, sat on her other side, grasping her hand, and five-year-old Christine sat on Barbara's lap. Anna had passed just last year, forcing Barbara to take on the other three children. Now Isabella of Austria, their mother, had passed.

The affair was solemn and short, and afterwards, Margaret of Austria began to argue with Christian. She wanted to take the children from him, since he had converted to Protestantism. Margaret wouldn't have the children raised by heretics. It was unacceptable. Eventually, Margaret won out, and the children, along with Amelia, were brought to Margaret's estates.

Once again, Amelia found herself in an unfamiliar place, learning a new language and attempting to understand her place in this new life.

* * *

1523

Things in Hapsburg started out tumultuous, then smoothed out as Amelia had grown accustomed to the new life. But in 1532, everything changed.

Christian returned to Norway, determined to have Hans renamed Crown Prince. At about the same time, the Holy Roman Emperor took Hans to begin grooming him for political life.

Christian failed, and was imprisoned.

Hans caught a sickness, and died, at only fourteen years old.

Amelia, now a young girl of fifteen, was back to being alone in the world.

There were talks over what to do about her. She had never been married to Hans, since the Emperor had taken him before he could reach his fourteenth birthday, the age required for a male to marry. Technically, she had been a ward of Christian's, but with Christian imprisoned, Hans dead, and no other male sons to betroth her to as the contract had stated, the family was at a loss. Were they still contractually obligated to provide for her?

Then, news from England came. The King, upset that his wife could not give him a son, was seeking a divorce from her. Amelia could barely remember her parents, let alone the country where she was from. Her first language was no longer English, and she spoke with an accent. But to Margaret of Austria, Amelia was the perfect thing to keep her parents together. She was nothing more than a pawn in a political game. After the proper mourning period, Amelia would be sent back home to England.


	2. Checkmate I

**A/N: A History Lesson – The marriage between King Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon was officially annulled on 23 May 1533. Anne Boleyn's coronation as Queen took place officially on 1 June 1533, although her tenure as Queen began on 28 May 1533. She was roughly 4 or 5 months pregnant at the time.**

* * *

2 June 1533

The trip back to England had been long and arduous. It was a journey that Amelia decided she never wanted to make again. There had been many delays to to her voyage home, many of which had made Margaret pace the floor angrily and mutter savage things under her breath. Eventually, Amelia was put on a ship with some of her belongings. She had wanted Barbara to come with her, but Margaret decided that the woman was best suited to continue as a governess for Dorothea and Christine.

"They did not give you enough," Barbara had grumbled before Amelia left. "They are not even returning you with your dowry. Only the Lord knows how they have squandered it."

As the ports of London appeared, questions flew through Amelia's mind at a rapid pace. Would her parents remember who she was? Would she remember who they were? How would people at court perceive her?

With questions still bouncing around in her head, Amelia slowly walked down the gangplank, carefully carrying herself as she thought an English princess would. A small party stood at the edge of the pier, headed by one of the most handsome men Amelia had ever laid eyes on. He was tall, taller than her even, with deep blue eyes and a strong jaw.

Charles could hardly believe his eyes. The little girl he had met so long ago had grown into a beautiful young woman. She was tall and slender, with eyes as green as sea foam and hair the color of honey. Her skin was tan, like she spent a lot of time outdoors in her youth. Even though it was not pale, which was very fashionable, for some reason, the slight tan suited her. The girl's face betrayed no emotions. Her expression was strong, her eyes fixed on him, as she exited the ship.

He bowed before her, as all the men in his party did, and she curtseyed in response. "Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk," he said, offering her his hand. She gracefully accepted it, and slowly raised herself to her full height. He raised her hand to his mouth and gently brushed his lips on her knuckles.

A small smile flickered across her lips at the gesture. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am Amelia," she replied.

"It is a pleasure to have you back on English soil," Charles stated, offering Amelia his arm. She accepted it, and he began to lead her to the party's horses. "How was your journey?"

"Pleasant enough, I suppose. I would rather not complete it again, however," she replied with a laugh.

He smiled. "I do believe that the King is rather pleased you have returned from Denmark, my lady. In fact," he paused, stopping in front of the most gorgeous palomino mare Amelia had ever laid eyes on, "His Majesty sends you this gift."

Amelia gasped and reached up to stroke the horse's silky mane. She had never had her own horse before. She hadn't even been allowed to ride the ones that had been presented as part of her dowry. Now, standing before her, was a horse of her very own.

Charles watched the girl's reaction carefully. It was one of surprise and wonder, as if she had never experienced any of the gifts that her father had sent her previously. The small number of trunks made him suspicious as well. Once a year, Henry had sent his daughter presents, including the finest cloth for dresses, books filled with children's stories and philosophy, and jewelry made with the finest rubies. There was no way that everything her father had sent her and what her allowances should have been able to purchase would fit into the two small trunks she brought.

* * *

Henry truly felt like a king. He had a beautiful wife sitting beside him as Queen, pregnant with his son. His former wife was nowhere near the castle. And his favorite daughter was returning home to him.

He had missed Amelia nearly every day when she was gone. Even though she was only female, he wanted to have her by his side. She had showed great promise when she was young to become a Queen one day, and he hoped that, even though she had to be sent to Denmark, her marriage to Prince Hans would at least have allowed her to be Queen of something. With his death, it seemed as though God had not intended for her to be crowned.

He wondered if she loved all of the things that he sent her, if she enjoyed the books when she lay sick. It was the only reason he had never been to visit her. Every time he would write, he would receive the response that she was sick, spending time out in the fjords for her health, or some other excuse. It was funny how sending her away had turned her into a sickly child. Hopefully, the return to England would do wonders for her health.

Anne, on the other hand, was crumbling, as was her family. She sat next to her husband and carefully rubbed her slightly swollen belly. In her heart, she knew she was carrying the next Prince of Wales, but there was a tiny bit of doubt that wriggled in her mind, magnified by the appearance of a second bastard daughter from her husband's first marriage.

All of the Boleyns recognized the threat. They all knew that the first thing on the King's mind would probably be his daughter's marriage, since her betrothal to the crown prince had dissolved. It was clear in the way that Henry carried himself, how he had paced the night before and put an almost equal amount of effort into Anne's coronation as the feast for his daughter's return, that Amelia was the favorite and the one to watch out for. If Anne wasn't able to produce a son, but Amelia was, how would the line of succession change?

The doors to the throne room opened, and the room took in a collective gasp. There she was, the Princess Amelia, on the arm of the Duke of Suffolk. As she was escorted down the aisle, members of court bowed low to show the deep respect that they had for her.

Charles, the Boleyns, and Henry had to give her credit. She did not once take her eyes off of her father, her expression unreadable as she walked. The deep green dress that she wore was in a simple fashion, with no patterns or ornaments on it. The only jewels she wore were small red stones in her ears. She was simple and refined, not flashy like the rest of court was.

When Amelia reached her father's throne, she curtsied low to the ground, lowering her head as a sign of great respect. "Your Majesties," she said.

The plurality of her words did not go unnoticed. Courtiers wondered how a daughter of Catherine could recognize a woman called the King's Whore as Queen, especially those who still sang Catherine's praises. Thomas and George Boleyn looked at her with great curiosity, trying to figure out what her agenda might be. Anne was simply surprised. It felt like her heart had stopped when the daughter of her rival recognized her.

Henry's heart swelled with love and pride. She had done what his other daughter had refused to do. His hand reached to lift his daughter's chin, meeting her eyes with his. Slowly, she stood. And there she was, a corporeal being, standing right in front of him.

In a showing of fatherly love, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Please," he whispered in her ear, "call me father."

They broke out of the embrace, and Henry took a step back to look at his daughter again, although his arms never left her shoulders, as if taking them away would send her back to Denmark.

For the first time in a long time, Amelia smiled a full smile. "Yes, father," was all she could say.

At that moment, the Boleyns knew they were in trouble.


	3. Checkmate II

**A/N: A History Lesson – Charles Brandon and Catherine Willoughby married on the 7** **th** **of September in 1533. His only surviving son from his previous marriage died in 1534. For the purposes of this story, Charles has not married Catherine, and Henry does not exist. Since Charles's four daughters (Anne, Mary, Frances, and Eleanor) are not mentioned in the show, they will not be making appearances in this story.**

* * *

"When may I visit my mother's tomb?" Amelia asked as Charles led her down the hallways of the palace. Since the woman sitting as Queen was not the same woman that Amelia had a small portrait of, Amelia assumed that she had passed away some time ago, maybe in childbirth. Did she have another sibling? Nobody had ever given her any news of her mother. When she had been informed that she would be returning to England to "save her mother," she assumed that it was because her mother was dying, and reuniting her with her youngest daughter might give her the strength to be well again.

Charles was startled by the question. "Your mother is very much alive, My Lady," he responded. "Your parents' marriage was annulled on the grounds that your mother was once married to the King's brother, the Prince of Wales, may God rest his soul."

Amelia contemplated Charles's words. She supposed that if the church had decided that her parents' marriage was not valid, then she would follow along. "Will I get to see my mother then? And my sister?"

"That is up to His Majesty," Charles responded.

The walk continued in silence, with the occasional courtier or staff bowing and murmuring a greeting. Amelia smiled and gave a nod to each one of them, regardless of their rank or station. She had never seen this amount of people before in so short a period of time. Growing up, she was often left alone with only Barbara for company, being raised separately from the other children. As a result, she could only speak to the siblings if Margaret wasn't paying attention to them, which she often was. Amelia often spent her time outside in the gardens during the beginning of the family's exile. At Margaret's estates, she spent her time doing needlepoint or riding Margaret's horses, since her governess was now raising Hans, Dorothea, and Christine.

The rooms Charles brought her to were some of the most elegant she had ever seen. She had her own sitting room and her own bedchamber, as well as a stool closet. A small room with a small cot off of her sitting room was what she could only imagine as a servant's quarters, although it looked similar to the room she had occupied while with Margaret.

"His Majesty apologizes about the size of your chambers, my lady, and he promises that he will have new ones prepared for you by the end of the month," Charles stated, watching the girl with an amused expression on his face.

"I am completely satisfied with these chambers, and I do not wish for my father to go through all the trouble of setting up new ones," Amelia said, a wide smile on her face. She paced around the sitting room, her hands running over the elegantly carved furnishings. Her expression was one of awe and bewilderment. She drew back the curtains separating her sitting room and bedchamber to marvel at the size of her bed.

A gasp came from within the bedchamber. A chambermaid dressed in her black uniform fell into a deep curtsey. "I apologize, my lady. They did not tell me that you had arrived," she said.

Amelia smiled. "Do not worry, I take no offense. Please, call me Amelia when we are in private. What may I call you?"

The young maid looked surprised as she stood. No titled person had ever spoken to her like that before. "My name is Constance FitzThomas and I am nothing more than a bastard daughter of Baron Lumley, my lady, it would be inappropriate for me address you as such," she responded.

"I insist," Amelia replied in a low voice. "If there are only two of us, then what need is there for titles. Besides, I am not quite sure what title I even hold anymore."

* * *

Amelia sat on the right hand side of her father at the feast, her plate filled with more things that she imagined that she would be able to eat. Everything that was served tasted absolutely amazing, and she ate until she was sure that another bite would make her stomach burst.

"How are you finding England, Amelia?" her father asked.

"It is absolutely lovely, father," she responded, taking a sip of wine. "Everyone has been so kind. It is a welcome change."

"Tell us about your time in Denmark. I am very curious," Henry said. "We wanted to visit on many occasions, but Christian always wrote to say that you were ailing."

Amelia frowned. "I cannot recall ever being sick as a child. And we only lived in Denmark for a few years before Christian was deposed. We moved to the Low Countries and have lived there ever since."

It was Henry's turn to frown. "Why did you never write to tell us this?"

"I wrote to you every week," Amelia replied, rather confused. "Even though I never received a response, I still wrote. Until Lady Margaret forbade me from sending letters to anyone, I wrote."

"Who is Lady Margaret?" Henry asked.

And with that, Amelia launched into her life story. Charles, who sat on Amelia's other side, felt the sudden urge to hold the girl in his arms. It explained why she had acted the way she did, why she had been so easily impressed by the small chambers she was given. She was simply a lonely teenage girl thrown into an unfamiliar world.

Anne, on the other hand, felt conflicted. The mother in her made her heart ached for Amelia. Even Anne and her siblings had grown up with a much better life than the princess. At the same time, she knew that loneliness would make Amelia more vulnerable. Marriage was most likely on her husband's mind, and who better to marry the King's daughter than her own brother?

As if on cue, George approached the table and asked to dance with Amelia. She smiled and graciously accepted. "You will have to forgive me, my lord, for I do not know English waltzes very well," she said with a smile, taking George's outstretched hand.

"Not to worry, my lady. I am sure you will follow just fine," he replied. According to his father, it was his job to seduce the young girl, to make her fall in love with him as Anne had done with the king. If Amelia fell in love with George, it would be easier to get the king to agree to have them married.

Amelia did not like dancing with the man who had asked her to dance. His touches were too rough and harsh. Instead of leading her, it felt like he was trying to control her. She tried to keep a smile on her face, but she knew that her eyes were betraying her. He chatted with her as they danced, keeping light conversation about how she was finding England and what her thoughts were on various things, but he did not mention his own name.

"Has His Majesty spoken to you about marriage yet, my lady?" George asked.

She froze, and her mouth gaped slightly, unable to form a response. Henry hadn't mentioned marriage at all, save for asking questions about her deceased fiancé. Why was this man, this total stranger, asking her about marriage? He hadn't even told her is name, as if he assumed that she knew who he was!

"Her Majesty wishes to speak with you, Lord Rochford," said a voice from behind Amelia. She turned to see Charles standing behind her, and she nearly sighed in relief.

With a frustrated look on his face, George bowed to his partner, and Amelia curtsied in return. "Until later, my lady, Your Grace" was all he said before hurrying over to his sister's side.

Charles offered Amelia his hand, and she accepted it with a small smile on her face. "It looked like you could use someone to rescue you," he said as they began to dance.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she responded. "I am not quite sure who that man was, and I certainly did not enjoy dancing with him, especially when he brought up the subject of marriage of which I have no idea as to what the thoughts of my father are."

Charles laughed. "That man was George Boleyn, the Lord Rochford, my lady, the brother of the Queen. He likely brought up marriage because his father hopes to arrange a marriage between you and him."

"I see," was all Amelia could think of in response. She appeared to be deeply contemplating Charles's statement. Would her father really marry her off to the brother of his wife? Surely the affinity was too close. After all, he had annulled his last marriage after marrying his brother's widow. But on the other hand, she had been betrothed to the son of her mother's niece, her own first cousin once removed. Who would the King choose to have her marry this time? She was little more than a pawn, and she knew this. Would her husband be old or young? Could she grow to love him?

During this time of thought, she could not help but notice how dancing with Charles was much nicer than dancing with George. She felt as though he led her through the steps, and allowed her to follow his lead on her own accord, instead of dragging her across the floor. Instead of forcing her to follow him while simultaneously keeping her from falling over her own feet, Charles's touch was light and gentle.

Charles enjoyed dancing with Amelia. She seemed to learn the steps quickly. When her hands were in his, something felt right about it. He had seen the look in her eyes when George had asked her about marriage, the combination of fear and confusion that had finally made him step up and cut in. In his heart, he felt the urge to protect her. It was obvious to him that she had grown up lonely and felt unloved. Charles became determined to make her feel loved at any cost, even if it meant going against the Boleyns and seeking her hand in marriage.


	4. Checkmate III

**A/N: A History Lesson - The minimum age for marriage in Tudor times was twelve for girls and fourteen for boys, although by Henry's time, twelve was considered too young and most upper-class women were married in their mid-to-late teens.**

* * *

8 June 1533

Amelia felt at ease when she was with Charles. He had been kind enough to show her around the palace, and even take her out riding in the forest. She supposed he felt sorry for her, since the only real friend she had made in the week she had been living in England was Constance. Amelia would admit that she had enjoyed the few conversations she had had with Mary Boleyn while waiting to have tea in the afternoons with the Queen, but the conversations she had with the Queen were much less enjoyable. It seemed as though Queen Anne despised her, even though Amelia had done nothing against her.

Charles found Amelia amusing, and found that he looked forward to the time that they would spend together. Without attention from the families she had lived with, she must have spent lots of time either outdoors, making her an excellent horseback rider, or in the libraries, making her one of the most intelligent girls that Charles had ever met. She spoke several languages fluently, and was able to hold a conversation with several of the ambassadors in their native languages when she met with them.

Since today was a rare, sunny summer day, Charles decided to take Amelia out to the gardens. They walked arm-and-arm in the shade of the tall hedges. Charles pointed out the most beautiful spots in the garden as they walked, and Amelia told him tales of the gardens she used to wander through as a child.

"Lady Amelia!" a voice rang out from behind. Amelia and Charles turned to see George Boleyn walking quickly towards them. "May I have a word with you?"

The smile that had been on Amelia's face fell. Charles could feel her grip on his arm tighten.

"Of course, my lord," Amelia replied quietly, a smile forcing itself onto her face.

"In private," George amended, glancing briefly at Charles, who still stood beside Amelia.

She looked up at Charles, then back to George. "I'm sorry, my lord," Charles apologized for her. "The Lady only has a quick moment to spare. His Grace is supposed to escort me to a meeting with my father soon."

George's glance shifted briefly to Charles, a flash of fear on his face. When his gaze returned to Amelia, his smirk returned as well. "I just wanted to congratulate you ahead of time on your betrothal. I am confident that His Majesty will approve of my proposal of marriage to you, and I hope that you will accept." He bowed. "My lady, Your Grace." And with that, he turned and strode in the opposite direction.

As soon as George was out of sight, Amelia let go of Charles's arm and, before he could react, quickly made her way over to one of the stone benches by the fountain. Charles followed and sat down next to her. A tear ran down her cheek.

"I do not wish to marry Lord Rochford," Amelia whispered low enough for only Charles to hear. "He relentlessly pursues me, and whispers lewd things in my ear if I stand too close to him."

Charles wanted nothing more than to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her to his chest. Like most things, however, the gesture was considered inappropriate. Instead, he stood and offered his hand to her. "I'm sure that your father will make a wise decision when it comes to your marriage," he responded to her gently.

She nodded and wiped a few tears from her eyes before she took his hand and allowed him to lead her back to the palace. His words offered her some comfort. She knew that her father loved her, and that he would ensure that she was happy.

* * *

"Go through the proposals one more time, Cromwell," Henry said, pacing in front of his window. He could see his daughter and Charles making their way back to the castle.

Cromwell cleared his throat. "The first comes from Lord Latimer, who praises your daughter's beauty and writes of how the Yorkshire air will bring her happiness and good health," he said.

Henry thought for a moment. "No, I do not want my daughter to be so far from me. Not after she was kept for me from so long. Lord Latimer does not come to court often enough for me."

"The second," Cromwell read, "comes from Lord Rochford, who also writes of your daughter's beauty and that he hopes to have many sons by her."

"I do not think that they would be a good match," Henry replied. "Rochford is already contracted to marry Jane Parker. I fear Lord Morley would not be happy if their engagement was broken."

"The last proposal comes from His Grace the Duke of Suffolk," said Cromwell. "He writes of your daughter's beauty and innocence, as well as how he is impressed with her mind, poise, and grace."

Henry stood silent at the window, watching his daughter and Charles. She was smiling as he spoke, and laughing at his words. In his mind, they looked like they got along well. Charles was not married or contracted to be married, and he spent the majority of his time at court. Therefore, out of the candidates that he had, Henry decided that a marriage between his youngest daughter and the Duke of Suffolk would be best.

* * *

30 June 1533

"Are you nervous, Lady Amelia?" Mary Boleyn asked the younger girl as she helped her put on her wedding gown. With no ladies to help her get ready, Anne had begrudgingly allowed her sister to help Amelia dress.

"I suppose so, Lady Mary," Amelia responded. "But I'm marrying Charles! He's the kindest man that I have ever met. I do believe that he has been looking out for me since my arrival."

Constance, the only woman Amelia wholly trusted in England, was also helping her get ready. She nodded silently in agreement with Amelia's statements. Constance had observed the smile that appeared on Charles's face whenever he saw Amelia enter a room, and the smile that spread across Amelia's in return. Amelia had told her tales of the time that the pair had spent together, and it appeared to Constance that the Duke might have even fallen in love with her.

The trip from her chambers to the church went by in a blur. Many of the courtiers and all of the ambassadors that she had met were present. Amelia felt giddy inside, but managed to keep herself composed on the outside. She held her chin up, and carried herself as if she were the Queen. She took her father's arm with grace, and together they walked down the main aisle of the church.

Charles felt the breath knocked out of him when he first saw her. She looked almost ethereal in her dress, like an angel. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to be marrying her. As the archbishop read from the Bible, he hardly listened. He found himself lost in his bride's eyes, and almost missed his vows.

Unlike most of the members of court, the majority of the Boleyns were not pleased, with Mary being the exception. Instead of trying to influence the girl in one direction or another, Mary simply spoke with her, and grew to love her intelligence and charm. Thomas was not happy that his son, who only had one job, had failed. It should have been him standing in front of the church, holding the bastard daughter's hands. George was upset because he had somehow let a beautiful creature like her slip away from him, and, to an extent, had failed his father. Anne was furious that her husband had not taken her advice to marry George to Amelia. She was outside of the Boleyn family's control, and that was what upset them the most.

The vows and wedding bands were exchanged, and the whole church was off to the palace for a feast and celebration. The courtiers marveled at the newlywed couple as they danced, fawning over how they seemed to be completely in step with each other. Amelia thanked everyone who spoke to her warmly, and her genuine smile won over the hearts of all of those at court. By the end of the celebration, even Anne was questioning why she despised the girl.

The guests followed the couple to their chambers, as was tradition. Instead of allowing them inside, Amelia kissed her father on the cheek and waved to the people, before the two shut the doors for the night.


	5. Checkmate IV

**A/N: Childbirth was incredibly dangerous in Tudor times. There was little to no medical care for pregnant women. Women who delivered deformed children or daughters were thought to be entirely to blame.**

* * *

7 September 1533

Amelia and Charles had fallen into a comfortable routine. She would wake up every morning with her head resting on his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her, and their legs intertwined. Amelia felt safe and warm in Charles's arms, especially as the temperatures began to dip as autumn approached. Charles loved waking up next to his wife. On the mornings that he woke up before her, he would spend a moment enthralled by the peaceful expression on her face before gently kissing her.

Over the past few months, Amelia had grown to love England. If the day was nice, she was outside riding with various ladies from court, attending celebrations hosted by her father, or exploring the royal libraries with Constance. Charles spent the majority of his time at court.

In the evenings, they would always have supper together, if there was no feast that night, and would then spend hours talking before they headed to their bedchamber.

Today, however, was different. Amelia sensed that there was change in the air when she left her chambers that morning.

"Lady Amelia!" a voice cried out. A young groom, maybe no older than fourteen, came running towards her. He stopped in front of her and bowed, gasping for air.

She smiled. "It is alright, take your time," she responded.

He stood up straight. "The Queen…" he began, "the Queen has gone into labor."

Surprise spread across Amelia's face. "Thank you for telling me," she said, and started the long walk across the palace to the Queen's chambers.

During the walk, she began to ask herself questions. Would she have a new sister or brother? Would they survive? Would the Queen survive? What if neither of them survived? Would her father remarry?

For some reason, her thoughts then turned to herself. She realized that she was supposed to start her monthly courses soon, but then remembered that the last time she had them was before she was married. That meant that she had missed her last two courses. Amelia ran through the list of symptoms that the Anne had complained about during one of their tea times. Her breasts felt sore, and in the recent mornings, she had started to feel a tiny bit of nausea. Sometimes, she felt a little dizzy and disoriented as well.

Her hand went to her stomach. Did it feel a little swollen? Perhaps it did. Perhaps she was pregnant. She had to be. It was the only explanation that she could have.

She turned quickly, looking for someone, anyone, who she could ask where her husband was. Instead, she collapsed, hearing people shout just before she hit the floor unconscious.

* * *

It seemed as though his life had fallen apart. One moment, Henry was expecting to welcome the birth of his son, and would have all of his family at his side. The world was about to be firm in his grasp. The next moment, his wife had given birth to a healthy baby girl, and his favorite daughter had collapsed in the hallways of the palace.

He remembered the crushing disappointment he had felt when Amelia had been born. It was similar to the way he felt now. But it took little time for him to fall in love with her. When she had returned to him, she seemed more mature than other women her age, and was much more educated. She was charming too, and a great advantage for Henry to have in his court.

Henry could tell that Charles really had fallen in love with his daughter. He sat at Amelia's bedside, stroking her hand and hair, pleading that she would wake up soon and that whatever had happened was a one-time incident.

In a short time, Amelia's eyes flickered open, and she looked around her chamber to see her husband, father, and Dr. Linacre surrounding her.

"Are you feeling better, my lady?" Dr. Linacre asked her, stepping forward to stand closer to her bed. Henry had called him as soon as he had heard that had happened to his daughter.

She smiled. "I feel just fine, Dr. Linacre. In fact, I feel wonderful," she responded. Amelia turned to look at her husband. "I have great news, husband. I am with child."

Charles's jaw dropped, and for a moment, he couldn't move. She was pregnant? With his child? He could feel his heart skip a beat as a smile plastered his face. Charles wrapped his arms around Amelia and kissed her deeply.

At this moment, Henry left the chambers, remembering how excited he was when Catherine and then Anne had told him of their pregnancies. He decided to let the new family have their moment, and he would congratulate them later.

"You know that I love you, right?" Charles whispered, his eyes locked on Amelia's.

She smiled and nodded in return, a few tears running down her cheeks as she placed a hand over her stomach. Charles kissed her once more, placing his hand over hers. Though Amelia was afraid, happiness swelled in her heart. She would never be alone again.


	6. The Act of Succession I

**A/N: A History Lesson – Baptism was incredibly important in Tudor times. Children were baptized as soon as possible, sometimes the same day that they were born out of fear that they would not survive. The mother was not generally present at her child's baptism because according to church customs, women were not allowed in holy places within the first weeks of giving birth.**

* * *

10 September 1533

Amelia stood by her husband as she watched Mary Boleyn hand the screaming infant off the the Archbishop. Like most of the other women present, Amelia couldn't keep the smile off of her face.

Elizabeth, they had named her, after both of their mothers. The tiny, red-headed baby silenced once she was returned to Mary's arms. It made Amelia think of her own child, her hand unconsciously reaching for her stomach. What would she name her child? Who would hold her child at the baptismal font?

She followed the procession alongside her husband in silence, stopping when they finally arrived at the Queen's chambers. The Queen looked happy to see her daughter again. Amelia wondered if her father shared that happiness. Then, she began to wonder if Charles would feel the same love if she gave him a daughter instead of a son.

Charles gently squeezed her hand, as if he was reassuring her that he would love their child no matter what their child's sex was. She looked up at him and smiled, receiving a smile back from him before they bowed to the new princess.

Anne felt as though she was on top of the world. She had given the king a child. Sure, it wasn't the son that they had been hoping for, but at least she was still young and could have more.

But when the King told her of Amelia's pregnancy later that evening, her grip quickly started to fade. If Amelia had a son, what would that mean for her daughter? She was sure that she would give the king a son, but after her failure with Elizabeth, she began to question if she would ever give birth to a healthy boy. What would happen to the line of succession? Would a grandson be put over his own child?

* * *

March 1534

"There can be no question of illegitimacy," Henry stated, pacing before Cromwell. He pointed at the man. "You will prepare a bill to put before parliament," he ordered. "It will state that the line of succession is now firmly vested in our children, and no others."

In truth, Henry felt a little bit of pain saying these words. It would mean that his beloved daughter Amelia was not a legitimate child any longer, but a bastard. If she was able to accept her status, however, he knew that it would be greatly beneficial to his rule.

"I shall do as Your Majesty commands," replied Cromwell.

"I am mindful, Mr. Cromwell, that there are some people, some wrong-headed, some biased people, are still unwilling to accept the validity of my marriage to the Queen," Henry continued. "In view of that, I think some sanction should be made against them. Everyone will be given their opportunity to demonstrate their loyalty."

This way, Henry believed that everyone would follow the example of those close to him. If he could get Amelia to swear her allegiance to him, then he wouldn't have to worry about people questioning the legitimacy of his marriage, or Elizabeth, any longer.

* * *

Lady Mary was thankful for Eustace Chapuys's visit. It had been so long since she had seen him. He was also one of the few who still championed her mother's case, and one who still cared about her own health and well-being.

"I am told that the lady is much dismayed of having given birth to a daughter and not the son she promised," Eustace began. Mary had been elated to hear that the whore had given birth to a girl. "To my mind," he continued, "it is sure proof that God has abandoned her."

Mary paused for a moment, processing the news. "How is my mother, the Queen?" she asked.

"Alas, I cannot visit or speak to her," he responded sadly. "I have little communications with her ladies, and they tell me she is still strong, but always begs the King, your father, of his mercy to be allowed to see you."

"I am sure his majesty will one day relent, for I think…" Mary's thought trailed off. "I believe with all my heart that he still loves and cares for me."

Eustace nodded in reply. "I am sure he does, as he cares for your sister Amelia."

"Amelia?" Mary asked, her eyes widening. "That cannot be. She is most likely married and living in Denmark as a true Princess."

Eustace frowned. "She is not. Your father tells me that her intended husband died. She returned to court and was married to the Duke of Suffolk within a month. I do believe that she is expecting her first child soon."

Mary stood, her temper getting the best of her. "How is it that my younger sister receives better treatment than I? She is married, happy, and living in the palace whilst I am confined to the Welsh Marches alone? It is I who should be married!" Mary cried out.

"It is because she recognized the Boleyn woman as a queen," Eustance replied softly, standing and placing his hands on Mary's shoulders. "She later told me that she did it only to make your father happy, but somewhere in her heart she still wishes to see her mother on the throne."

"Why hasn't she written to me?" Mary asked.

"She has," stated Eustace, pulling a few letters out of his jerkin. "The King had forbidden her to write to you, but she sent a few letters by me. She asks you to burn them as soon as you have read them."

Mary sat back down and took the pieces of parchment in her hand. When she was little, she had loved her little sister. It was easy to play tricks on her, and she would never get angry with Mary. When Amelia had left for England, she had given Mary a rosary, which Mary prayed with. In the short time after Amelia had left, however, it became rather obvious that Henry favored his younger daughter to Mary. She grew jealous of the hours that her father spent writing to her, and the money he spent on fabrics and trinkets for her. Maybe the King's attitude was changing, and Mary and Amelia would be on an equal plane with the birth of another daughter.

"Tell me of my sister," Mary said, putting the letters aside and refocusing her attention on Eustace.

* * *

1 April 1534

Shortly after Elizabeth had been baptized, Charles and Henry had both agreed that the country air in Suffolk would be much better for Amelia. As soon as some of the male courtiers had heard, they began to offer Charles their daughters as mistresses, hoping to move their families closer to the King's favor, especially if something happened to Amelia during childbirth. Charles found himself turning these offers down, which was something he would have never thought to do in his previous marriage. He didn't want to ruin the relationship he had with Amelia, not now and not ever.

Amelia simply adored Charles's estates in Suffolk. There were gardens for her to stroll in, at least until winter came in full force, and a large library that she could spend hours in. Of course, when it came time that most women went into confinement, Amelia refused. Charles couldn't remember exactly how she had phrased it, but it was something akin to her being a barn animal locked in a barn over winter. In exchange for not pushing her to be confined, Amelia agreed to not overexert herself. She spent most of her time reading or sewing.

Early in the morning on the 1st of April, however, everything changed.

It started early in the morning, before the cock crowed or the first rays of sun touched the countryside. The searing pain in her stomach had caused her to cry out in her sleep, waking her husband beside her. In an instant, Charles recognized that she was in labor, getting ready to bring a child into the world. He called for his maids, and then kissed his wife.

"Wake up!" he shouted throughout the household. "My wife is in labor! Someone fetch the midwife!" He pointed at one of the messengers. "Ride to Greenwich Palace and alert the King right away. This is an urgent matter and he must receive word immediately."

It was all he could do. He could not enter the room where his wife was, only pace outside or sit and wring his hands. Charles winced every time that he heard Amelia's cries, and felt his hopes slightly dashed when a woman came out of the room and sadly shook her head.

* * *

Henry did not like being woken up. But at the same time, he did not mind waking up to the news that his daughter was in labor. Within a matter of hours, he had organized a party to ride to Suffolk.

The ride could not move fast enough. The sun was high in the sky by the time they had arrived at the Brandon household. The members of Charles's household bowed as the King and his party burst into the house. One of the maids quickly lead Henry to the bedchamber.

Sitting on the bed was Amelia, with her hair and face still shiny with sweat and an exhausted expression on her face. After the long hours of labor, she was exhausted, to say the least. Charles sat next to the bed, a tiny bundle in his arms.

"Father," Amelia croaked out, bowing her head.

"Your Majesty," Charles said, rising to his feet and crossing the room. "It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to your grandson."


	7. The Act of Succession II

**A/N: According to history, Anne Boleyn delivered a stillborn baby in July of 1534 and by Christmas, Henry was in discussion with Cranmer and Cromwell on if he could leave her without returning to Catherine. This chapter follows the events as they happened in the show. However, the passage of the Act of Succession that states Henry and Anne's children as rightful heirs will be in accordance with history (23 March 1534) and separate from the Act of Supremacy (introduced November of 1534 and enacted in early 1535).**

* * *

5 April 1534

Despite the fact that her husband had been gone for a few days, Anne was still happy. She thought her daughter was one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet, and looked forward to arranging her marriage one day. Elizabeth still fussed, but Anne was confident that she would grow out of that.

As she went to feed her daughter, a voice rang out. "What are you doing?" it asked.

Anne looked up, startled, as her ladies murmured a greeting to Henry and curtsied. "May I not feed her from my own breast?" Anne asked.

Henry shook his head. "Queens, don't do that," he replied, "especially not for a daughter. Give her back to her wet nurse." He took Elizabeth out of Anne's arms and cradled her. Anne couldn't help but wonder if he had loved Amelia as a baby as much he seemed to love Elizabeth. For some reason, her mind kept circling back to the girl. Anne hated how Amelia seemed to have a grip on her mind without even trying to. Amelia wasn't even present at court!

"The princess will shortly be given her own establishment at Hatfield," Henry continued, much to the delight of Anne. "Among others, the Lady Mary will attend and wait on her."

"Catherine's daughter?" Anne questioned, keeping her voice low to conceal her anger. In her obsession over Amelia, she had nearly forgotten about Henry's oldest daughter.

"Yes," He replied, setting Elizabeth down. "It is well that she knows her new place."

"What about the Lady Amelia?" Anne asked. If one bastard had to care for the princess, then maybe the other would have to as well.

"The Lady Amelia has her own child to worry about," Henry responded. "She gave birth to a boy four days ago, John Brandon." A smile filled his face. He took great pride in the fact that he had a grandson, even if it was by one of his now-illegitimate children.

Anne took a step closer to Henry, her gaze unwavering. "I will still give you a son," she whispered. "Come soon my darling, to my hot bed."

Anne could feel that Henry's attention was no longer on her. As soon as he had left, tears began to fall from her eyes. She believed that she had lost him. Not even a year as Queen consort and she believed that her husband was gone. She turned and noticed Lady Eleanor Luke behind her. Could it be that he had taken a mistress? Anne almost immediately dismissed this thought in her head. Her ladies had sworn an oath of loyalty to her. They would not betray her.

Amelia was now totally out of her control. She had a husband who loved her, a father who cared about her, and a son. Amelia was untouchable, or so Anne thought.

* * *

It nearly killed Charles to say good-bye to Amelia and return to the palace with the King. He wanted nothing more than to be near his son and his wife, but the King had demanded he return and submit to the Act of Succession. He did not want to go, especially if the purpose was to submit to an act that declared Anne's children legitimate and his own wife a bastard. Amelia insisted that he go and submit.

"If this is what the King wants, he will do whatever necessary to ensure that he gets it," Amelia reminded him. Charles did not want to see anything happen to his wife or his child. With one last kiss for his wife and one for his son, he rode back to London.

After Charles had publically submitted to the King, Henry required him to stay for court business. After all, Charles was Lord President of the Council, and his absence was noted.

"Your Grace," Thomas Boleyn called out while Charles was walking towards the Council Chambers. "I hear that congratulations are in order."

Charles nodded, thanked him, and continued walking. He was late.

Thomas did not mean what he had said. In fact, his hatred for the Duke of Suffolk grew. Now the King had a grandson. If Anne did not deliver him a son soon, then all would be lost. Somehow, he had to remove Amelia and her son completely from Henry's mind as suitable heirs to his throne.

* * *

2 May 1534

Amelia returned to court on her 17th birthday, holding her tiny, month-old son in her arms. Even though she was nothing but a bastard, ladies at court cooed over the bright-eyed boy, commenting how he had the King's eyes.

Mary Boleyn was especially excited to see Amelia. Lately, she had become slightly baby-crazy, was very pleased to meet the new baby. Her eyes had widened and she had gasped when she saw the infant, and she had held him oh so carefully in her arms.

"Is he a good baby?" she asked. "Before they sent the princess to Hatfield, she would cry through the whole night. You could never get her to stop."

Amelia smiled. "John has been very good so far. He hardly ever fusses, and he's not colicky at all," she replied.

Mary handed John back to Amelia as the Queen approached them. Both women curtsied to Anne. "It is wonderful to see you back at court, Lady Amelia," Anne said with a forced smile on her face. Inside, her hatred grew stronger at seeing the smiling teenager holding the King's only grandson.

"I am glad to be back, Your Majesty," Amelia replied. "Would you like to hold my son? His name is John Henry Brandon, and one day he will be the Duke of Suffolk after his father."

Anne nodded, and Amelia placed the boy in the Queen's arms. Oh, how the Queen wanted to drop the infant right then and there. That way, there would be no more grandsons to challenge Elizabeth and her future siblings. The motherly instinct inside her screamed not to. Anne had to admit that the tiny baby was precious, and that his eyes were the same as the King's. The more she looked at them, the more she hated him. He was too innocent and adorable for her to hurt.

Eventually, the Queen handed the baby back and swept off, leaving Amelia and Mary to curtsey in her wake.

* * *

Christmas, 1534

Amelia was delighted to be back at court for the Christmas feast. Her young son was now nearly eight months old. He was able to sit on his own now, and enjoyed clapping his hands. He babbled happily and constantly smiled. Overall, John was a happy baby, and the Brandons were proud parents.

"Charles," Henry greeted, opening his arms. He embraced the taller man. "Happy Christmas!"

"And to Your Majesty," Charles replied. "I have a gift for you."

Henry was intrigued. "Where is it?" he asked.

Charles turned and gestured behind him. There was Amelia. Even though she had been living in the palace for the past few months, the King had hardly had time to see her. He had been busy with Scotland and the Act of Supremecy, and barely had time for his own wife, let alone his bastard daughter.

She had grown more mature since he had last seen her. The baby that rested on her hip most certainly had. He had a wide smile on his face, excited by all of the sounds and colors of the court at Christmas. When he saw the king, his chubby arms reached for him, as if he knew that Henry was his grandfather. Henry couldn't help the laugh that escaped from his lips as he took the boy from his daughter. John gurgled and laughed along with his grandfather.

"He is perfect," Henry stated.

Amelia nodded. "I am very happy you think so, father," she replied. She stepped closer to her husband and grasped his hand. "In fact, I am with child again."

Henry was elated, and embraced his daughter tightly. She had given him a grandson, and now he might give her another.

Thomas Boleyn watched these interactions with great curiosity. When his own daughter told Henry that she was pregnant while dancing, he simply embraced her. There was little more to his reaction. If Anne failed to give him a son, then all would truly be lost. It seemed Amelia could do no wrong, but Thomas certainly could.


	8. His Majesty's Pleasure I

**A/N: Salmonellosis is a disease contracted from the Salmonella bacteria. It causes intestinal inflammation, which leads to diarrhea, fever, vomitin, and abdominal cramps. Symptoms appear 12 to 72 hours after infection and last four to seven days. Most people recover without issue.**

* * *

17 January 1535

While Charles was away one morning, Amelia decided that she wanted nothing more than to stay in her chambers with John. She only had a few dresses that she wore when she had been pregnant with her son, and most of them were plain shifts. At Westhrope Hall, she rarely had guests to entertain. Therefore, she never had much of a need for fancy, fashionable dresses. Her dresses had started to feel a tad tight, so it was time to start working on some new ones.

Constance sat by her side, helping her to stitch and measure. They chatted amicably, with Amelia telling rumors she had heard about the courtiers and Constance replying with what she had heard from other servants.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them, and Constance rose to answer it. It was not unusual for Amelia to have visitors when she decided to stay in. She had made several friends at court, and some had even promised to help her with her dresses if they found the time.

Constance spoke briefly to who was at the door before turning back to Amelia. "It is a groom, my lady. Someone from court has heard of your morning sickness and has sent you something that she swears will help."

It was true. Amelia had been dealing with some morning sickness, much to her annoyance. "Thank you, Constance," she replied. "Let them in. I am feeling curious."

The groom entered. He was little more than one of the younger lads, perhaps no older than she. "My Lady," the groom said with a bow, expertly maneuvering the cloth-covered plate in his hand so that its contents didn't fall to the ground.

Amelia nodded. "I am curious, sir, as to what you have brought to me," Amelia stated, putting her sewing aside.

"Mama!" John cried, walking over to his mother on his wobbly legs. "Me up!"

Amelia laughed, her heart flooding with happiness. John had started talking not long ago, and now was able to communicate with her with little to no problems. She lifted the boy into her lap and bounced him on her knee.

The groom felt guilty watching the scene. He had never approached Amelia before, but had heard rumors of her kindness. It was apparent that she was a good mother, even though they were about the same age. Yet he had to do what he was hired to.

"I brought you a slice of salmon and fig fish pie. It comes highly recommended as a cure for morning sickness, my lady," he said. He knew this wasn't the truth. Well, it might have been, but not to his knowledge. The man who had hired him had been counting on the fact that Amelia had been new to the country and mostly away from court during her first pregnancy.

"Tell your mistress that I thank her, sir, and I wish to one day repay the favor. Tell me, whom do you serve?" Amelia asked, taking the plate from him.

"My mistress wishes to remain anonymous," the groom replied with a bow. "She states that she simply wishes to thank you for all of the kindness that you have shown her." With a bow, he bid her farewell and left.

Amelia ate a few bites of the pie before setting it aside. It might have worked for the anonymous lady, but the taste wasn't her favorite. Setting John back on the ground and sending Constance to dispose of the rest of the pie, perhaps by handing it to one of the homeless in the city, Amelia resumed her stitching.

* * *

18 January 1535

Amelia awoke from her sleep with chills. Naturally, she began to snuggle closer to her husband, trying to get warmth from him. He stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake. Her stomach cramped, sending a shooting pain through her abdomen. Amelia curled into a ball as much as she possibly could with her slightly rounded stomach.

Then, a wave of nausea hit her. It wasn't morning sickness, but something much stronger, that caused her to leap out of bed to vomit in a bucket. Her stomach churned angrily as she collapsed to the floor, resting her back against the cool wall. Now, she felt hot, like she was standing in a fire. The pain was awful and disorienting.

Charles awoke when he no longer felt Amelia's body against his own. In the crackling fire, he could see her outline slumped against the wall, and he quickly rose from his bed.

"Amelia?" he called out. "Are you alright, love?"

The only sound she could seem to make was a moan of pain. As he moved closer to her, he could see the sheen of sweat on her face, he knew that there was something wrong. Charles knelt in front of her and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. She was warm, very warm. Wordlessly, he picked her up off the ground and cradled her in his arms. For a girl who had been through a lot in her life, she was strong. But now she seemed weak.

He lay his wife down on the bed carefully before pulling a robe over his nightshirt and pounding on Constance's door.

"How can I help you, Your Grace?" she asked sleepily, rubbing one of her eyes and yawning.

"Amelia is ill," he responded. That seemed to wake Constance up. "I need you to look after her while I go fetch the physician and the King."

* * *

There was nothing more that Charles could do. Dr. Linacre was examining Amelia now. He tried to keep his mind off of it, instead opting to play with his son, who had no idea what had happened to his mother.

Henry could barely keep his composure. First, Mary had fallen ill to the point where her physicians were concerned. Then, Amelia. Would Elizabeth, the heir to his throne, be next? He hoped that Anne would deliver him a son, a boy who would one day become King.

Dr. Linacre then emerged from the chambers. Both Charles and Henry stood, fearing the worst.

"The Duchess appears to have food poisoning, Your Grace," stated Dr. Linacre, his gaze focused on the Duke. "According to your maidservant, a groom presented your wife with a fig and fish pie, claiming that it would help with her morning sickness."

"Did she mention who it was from?" Charles asked.

Dr. Linacre shook his head sadly. "No, Your Grace," he replied. "I have bled her, and, if she is similar to the cases I have seen in the past, then she should make a full recovery. Unfortunatley, however, I was not able to save her child."

Charles felt his heart shatter. "Were you able to determine the sex?" he asked. He knew that it would be one of the first things that Amelia asked after he told her.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, Your Grace," the doctor replied. "It appeared that your wife was carrying a healthy male child." With that, he bowed and promised to return in a few hours.

Charles sank back down onto the bench he had been sitting on, a stunned expression on his face. He would have had another son? He would have loved the child no matter its sex, but there was something about having lost a son that seemed to really hurt him.

The King, meanwhile, was enraged. Someone had decided to send his daughter poisoned food through one of his own grooms. How dare someone attack his daughter in his own palace, in her own chambers, and kill his second grandson?

"An investigation will be launched immediately," Henry stated to no one in particular. He turned to Charles. "I think it would be best if Amelia returned to Westhorpe as soon as she is able, and John as well. They will be much safer there."

Charles looked down at his son. "Mama sick?" the tiny boy asked.

His father nodded. "Yes, Mama is sick," he responded. "But she will be better soon, and then you will go back to Westhorpe, where you were born."

John seemed to think about this for a moment. "Okay!" he responded, a big smile on his face. Charles couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He was going to miss his son. As much as he wanted to go back home and never leave his wife's side again, he was needed in London.

* * *

Rumors of Amelia's illness spread quickly, much to Thomas's delight. He had been successful. The bastard had lost her baby, and now she was said to be returning to Suffolk without her husband. That meant no more little children ruining Anne's children's chances of becoming heirs. The last step that stood between his grandchildren becoming kings and queens and Amelia becoming an heir was that annoying brat John. Eventually, he would find a way to fix it, hopefully by law or act, but until Anne delivered the child she was carrying, he would let the little family mourn. Oh, what an evil man he truly was.


	9. His Majesty's Pleasure II

**A/N: A History Lesson: According to the show, Henry tells Anne that they won't make an announcement about her miscarriage. This is due to the fact that Anne's miscarriage in June of 1535 was rumored and not recorded by all of the historians at the time.**

* * *

26 January 1535

Amelia lay curled up in a ball on her side with her blankets pulled up around her chin, exhausted from the illness she had been battling. Her fever had eventually broken, and she was able to hold bread in her stomach. Physically, she felt much better, although she was still a little weak. But mentally, Amelia felt like she had come undone.

How could she have been so stupid? It was the question that went through her mind over and over. Why had she accepted it? Because she believed that it was one of her friends from court who had gone through morning sickness herself and felt pity. Because it was presented to her by someone wearing the uniform of a King's groom. Because she didn't want to be rude. Because she was hungry. It was a collection of things that led her to accept the fish pie.

She should have been more cautious.

It was now obvious to her that she had an enemy at court. But who? She had never spoken out against anyone nor had she started vicious rumors. Amelia didn't think that she came off as a particularly threatening person, especially since she was a bastard. She knew that her father loved and cared about her, but not enough to manipulate the law to make her still in the line of succession. Amelia believed that she was honestly no threat.

It dawned on her that she might not have been the intended target as her hand travelled over her now-empty womb. She was now without child. Charles had told her that it had been a boy, and then held her as she wept until she had no tears left.

Now the tears threatened to fall again. Someone had tried to murder her unborn son. Amelia now understood why she and John were to be sent back to Westhorpe. She rose from the bed slowly, her legs still shaky from a week of misuse, and began to pack her things with a heavy heart.

* * *

June 1535

Henry was numb. First, his eldest daughter had fallen ill. Then, his second daughter had been poisoned. Now, Sir Thomas More was refusing to sign the oath. And to top it all off, his wife had miscarried their child.

He managed to compose himself before walking into the Queen's chambers. Anne looked much like Amelia, pale and fragile, turned to the side so that she wouldn't have to face anyone. He stood at the foot of her bed for a moment, unsure of what to say. Her eyes stayed focused on the wall behind him.

"I lost the baby," she murmured. She was sad to the point that she was numb. Anne had done no wrong and done no harm. She loved her unborn child.

"Yes," replied Henry softly. "They told me." He paused, holding back the tears in his eyes and swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "We shall make no public announcement of the fact."

"No," Anne replied, so softly that Henry could barely hear her.

Henry smiled a sad smile. It killed him to see the woman he loved in a state like this. It had killed him with Catherine through her miscarriages, and with Amelia through hers. With Anne, he thought that his days of burying his stillborn children were behind him.

As he turned to leave, Anne whispered "thank you, Your Majesty." He stopped and started to turn back, but the tears that were threatening to spill over forced him to leave. He couldn't cry in front of Anne, not in the state that she was in.

Anne continued to lie in the bed. She believed that now, she had truly lost. The King still cared about her, she could tell, but love? She was unsure. Anne still loved her husband with all of her heart. She now believed that Amelia had won.

The worst part? Amelia wasn't even trying.

* * *

In public, Anne managed to compose herself. But in her own chambers, she had completely fallen apart. Now she stood in front of her mirror, drunk, smearing wine around her lips. George. She needed George. Where was George?

As if on cue, her brother arrived. She hoped that he was pleased with what he saw, with what he and her father had been pushing for.

"Sister?" he asked, approaching her slowly. He had never seen her like this before. He was used to Mary and Anne being strong, stubborn, and willfull. Now Mary was banished, and Anne seemed to have gone mad.

She took another sip of wine before turning to face him, staring at him as if she hadn't called for him. "I couldn't sleep," she answered, walking towards him. "I'm sorry."

"Why could you not sleep?" he questioned, a hint of concern edging into his voice.

Anne looked past him, as if she were staring at someone else. "I was thinking of them," she responded.

George leaned closer. She seemed to sway slightly as she stood, as if she were soon to fall over. "Who? Thinking of who?" he prodded gently.

She turned to him suddenly. "The Ladies Mary and Amelia, of course." How did her brother not know this? "And their mother." They were all Anne ever seemed to think about. She took another gulp of wine.

George's eyes followed her chalice with concern. "Catherine?"

"Yes, Catherine," she responded. How did her brother not see the obvious? "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"I don't understand," he replied. Lady Mary and Lady Amelia had bothered her in the past, but they were gone now. Mary was a maid for his niece Elizabeth, and Amelia was away at Westhorpe. When his father had told him what he had done to her, George couldn't help but pity her. She was, in fact, a lovely person. Deep down, he wished that he had married her, not because his father pushed for it, but because he could see how lovely and kind she had been.

And Catherine? Rumor had it she was getting sicker by the day.

"What harm can they do you now?" he asked.

"Every harm!" Anne cried out, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "As long as Mary is alive, she could be Queen. As long as Amelia lives longer, she will follow as Queen, and then John will be King. Where does that leave MY daughter?"

"No, no, no," George responded, turning his sister who had wandered back to face him. "The Act of Succesion makes that impossible. Amelia herself even swore to it. Elizabeth, your daughter, will be made heir to the throne."

She shook her head as a smile spread across her face. "But the King can change his mind. He can do whatever he wills now. He has absolute power. You know that!" She thumped her younger brother's chest a few times to emphasis her last point. "And what he has given," she continued, crossing the room, "he can take away, and what taken away, he can give back!" Her arms swung wildly as she spoke. "And he could still make Mary or Amelia Queen, even above my daughter." At this point, she started to cry.

"But why should he?" George asked softly.

"I don't know, I just fear it!" Anne cried, rubbing her forehead. She decided that she might have had a little too much to drink. "This, I know of Mary and Amelia," she continued, turning to face her mirror again. "They are my death, and I am theirs."


	10. The Definition of Love I

**A/N: A History Lesson – Among royal families and nobility, families started to plan marriages from a very early age. Some marriages were planned before a child was even able to talk. During the courtship period between betrothal and marriage, it was vital that both parties gave consent to the marriage. Otherwise, the marriage would be declared invalid.**

* * *

July 1535

Marriage for Elizabeth was on the forefront of Henry's mind. He had arranged Amelia's marriage to Hans when she was about Elizabeth's age, and Mary's to the Dauphin (although the engagement was later broken) as well. It made sense to begin to look for someone for Elizabeth to marry, someone who would one day rule after his death.

Enter the French ambassador. Henry knew that his relationship with the French had been rocky at best, but Anne had been a beloved figure at French court, and held many strong ties. He believed that Anne's child would without a doubt be accepted by the French as a true heir to the throne.

He turned to face the portly man, a smile on his face. "Exellency," Henry greeted warmly.

"Your Majesty wanted to see me?" the ambassador asked with a bow.

"I wanted to ask after my brother, the King," Henry replied, trying to make conversation.

"His Majesty is very well, except for his hatred of the Emperor, which is like a disease."

The King smiled. This was a good sign, a very good sign indeed. "So he still wants our friendship?" he implored.

"Mon dieu!" the ambassador replied. "He loves you above all the princes in the world."

Henry stepped closer. "Then make to him this proposal," Henry said, his voice lower, "that his son, Charles, Duke of Angouleme, should be betrothed to our beloved daughter, Elizabeth."

The ambassador's eyes widened, and he simply bowed and exited. Henry inhaled sharply. The lack of response was not a good sign. It was not a very good sign at all. 

* * *

Over the past few months, Amelia had stayed busy. Charles had remained at court, unable to move back to Westhorpe with his wife because of his station. Because they weren't able to see one another, they wrote frequently. Charles told her of Mary Boleyn, the executions of Fisher and More, the Queen's rumored miscarriage, and the marriage of George Boleyn. Amelia responded with news of John and Constance (who the King had decided to send to Suffolk with Amelia), as well as stories of the garden she had started, volumes she had purchased for the library, and the stitching she had been doing. She even wrote about how she had celebrated her eighteenth birthday.

Henry decided, following advice from Cromwell, that he needed his daughter back at court in order to promote his supremacy and the new English church. If Amelia, the daughter of the aunt of the Holy Roman Emperor, could support her father's supremacy in public, then what would stop his subjects from giving their support as well? In July, shortly before Cromwell's play opened, Henry called his daughter back. The move had its risks, he knew, but he vowed to place extra guards on her and her son.

Amelia both welcomed and dreaded the return. She missed her husband deeply, and knew that John missed both his father and grandfather. It would be nice to be back at court and surrounded by her family. On the other hand, she had developed a great love for the quaint charms and quiet atmosphere of Suffolk. Amelia also feared for the life of her son, and vowed that she would never leave him alone until the still-unknown assassin was captured.

This led Amelia to one of the courtyards of the palace on a bright July day, standing next to her husband. She had arrived only hours ago, and spent most of the morning with her father, who had been filling her in with all of the details of court that she had missed. John had sat on his knee the entire time, just as Amelia had done when she was his age.

Now, John sat on his father's hip, watching the stage excitedly and waiting for the play to begin. Amelia stood at Charles's other side, her arm wound around his waist and his arm covering her shoulders.

"I missed you," Charles leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I missed you every day, and I prayed to God for the day when we would be united again." He pressed a kiss against her temple.

"John and I missed you as well," she whispered in response. "Every day. In fact, I believe that we missed you twice as much."

"Is that so?" Charles asked. Both he and Amelia shifted their gazes from one another to John. "Did you and your mother miss me more than I missed the two of you?"

A wide smile broke out across the boy's face as he nodded shyly. Both of his parents laughed, and John buried his face into his father's shoulder, the smile still covering his face.

The actors soon entered the stage from behind the curtain, and the crowed applauded. Charles delighted in seeing his son applaud with the rest of the crowd. He had grown so much since Charles had last seen him. His hair was the same shade of blonde as his mother, and his eyes the same green as his grandfather. Charles even believed that one day, John would be a spitting image of the King.

"Let us go about our other matters," the pope on the stage began. "Now, as much as King John does Holy Church so handle, so here I curse him with cross, book, bell, and candle!" The fake pope turned and pretended to fart in the face of the fake cardinal.

The crowd laughed, and John did too. Amelia politely giggled. Only one of Anne's ladies noticed her flinch when the actor said "King John."

"I will ask God to put him from his eternal light," the pope continued. "I will take him from Christ, and after the sound of this bell…" the pope paused, as if waiting for the bell. When it didn't come, he turned and shouted "the bell, you buggers, the bell!"

Amelia laughed at this. Charles turned his head and gave her a questioning look. She of all people should be hating this play. It spat in the face of everything her mother believed in.

"It's funny because the bell sound didn't come right away," Amelia explained as the bell rang.

"And after the sound of this bell," said the pope. He turned again and shouted "I said after the sound of this bell!"

Charles was smiling at the joke before the bell stopped tolling.

"Both body and soul I will give him to the devil in hell," the pope concluded with another fart, this time knocking over the fake cardinal.

By now, the entire crowd, save for the Imperial ambassador, was roaring with laughter. Even Charles had to admit that Cromwell was an excellent propagandist. Plays like this could convince people to accept Henry as Head of the Church.

John was absolutely loving the show. All of the characters were dressed in bright clothing, and they made strange sounds. They had even mentioned King John, and his name was John! It was like they were talking to him.

"Me King John?" he asked, startling both of his parents. He knew that his grandfather was the king. Maybe he could be too.

Amelia and Charles shared a look. "Where did you get that idea from?" Amelia asked.

John pointed at the fake pope on the stage and laughed.

Charles remembered the earlier mention of King John. "I'm not sure about king, but one day you will be Duke of Suffolk," he replied. "Westhorpe will become your house. You like Westhorpe, don't you?"

John nodded excitedly. Westhorpe would be his one day! Who needed to be king when you would have your own house?

"And all the abbots and bishops will make lots and lots of money!" the fake pope cried out when the Brandon family returned their attention to the play. The crowd booed passionately.

Two extravagantly dressed men came out. "I love the pope as much as ever may be," said the first.

"I prithee heartily, tell me why you do so?" inquired the second.

"Because I perceive well the pope is a jolly fellow," the first responded. "A trim fellow, a rich fellow, yes, and a merry fellow. He's rich in his royalty and angelic in his behold."

The pair made way for the next actors as the crowd cheered. Amelia was enjoying the show. Whomever had written the play had a knack for comedy.

A man dressed as a king walked onto the stage, as well as a man in a helmet and a man wearing a banner. But Amelia's attention was no longer on the play. Suddenly, Charles passed John to her and turned to walk up to the King's platform.

"Majesties," Charles said with a bow. He did not know why the King had decided to call him in the middle of the play, but he knew not to say no to a king.

"The Admiral of France is to pay an official visit," Henry stated. "I want you and Amelia to receive and entertain him on my behalf."

This surprised Anne. If Amelia got to the Admiral of France before her, then she could easily convince him not to arrange the marriage, or even arrange one between her own son and one of the King's daughters. "Why them?" she asked, turning to her husband. When he looked at her as if she were crazy, she offered an explanation. "Surely my father would be a much better choice."

Henry's gaze shifted from Anne to Charles. "I trust Your Grace to carry out my commands," he said pointedly to Charles.

"I am, as ever, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant," Charles responded, reigning in his anger towards the Queen.

He turned to step down from the platform and Henry scolded his wife. Once he was back at Amelia's side, he placed another kiss on her temple.

"What is it?" Amelia asked in a hushed tone.

"That woman is a whore," he responded through gritted teeth.

"Charles!" Amelia hissed. "Language!" She bounced the child she had on her hip to remind him of the presence of their young son.

"I apologize," Charles responded, "but she treats me worse than I treat my dogs."

"But dogs bark and bite," Amelia responded. "A Queen can only bark, really, as long as you are in the favor of the King."

Charles felt comfort from her words. She was right, of course. The Queen could say as much as she wanted about Charles and his wife, but in his heart he knew that the King would always favor him, and that he would never turn his back on his daughter.

Amelia still wondered why Charles had to be called up to talk to the King, but before she could ask, Eustace Chapuys appeared next to her husband. Neither man acknowledged the other at first, but Amelia and John turned to stare at the pair of them.

"How is Queen Catherine?" Charles asked.

"Alas, she is very unwell," Eustace responded. Amelia felt her heart break a little. "She is sinking. Not only is her household severely reduced, but she has been separated from her daughter Mary for the last four years."

"Not to mention she has not seen Amelia for sixteen," Charles responded.

"Her faith is astonishing," Eustace stated.

"And my sister?" Amelia asked.

"While the concubine has power," Eustace continued bitterly, "I fear for her life."

The play ended to much applause. Amelia applauded, but it was only because everyone else had. Her mother was ill? She knew that her mother was getting older, and that she was likely to pass away soon. Amelia glanced at her son. If she didn't act quickly, then her mother would never get to meet her grandson. She hoped that she could petition her father to allow her and John to visit her mother, and maybe her sister as well. They were still her family after all, and she knew nothing was more important to her father than family.

 **A/N: This update comes to you at about 2 in the morning my time. I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes.**


	11. The Definition of Love II

**A/N: I only speak English, Spanish, and a little Dutch, German, and Irish. Therefore, google translate will be used for most of the foreign language. I apologize for all of the grammatical errors. The English translation, if not spoken, will follow in italics.**

* * *

Amelia stood beside Charles, nervous on the inside, but collected on the outside. He had finally told her that they were supposed to entertain the Admiral of France. Amelia's eyes had widened, and she cursed under her breath in at least four languages. "Du troede ikke, at nævne dette før?" she had shouted at him before she realized she was not speaking English. "You did not think to mention this sooner?" she had amended.

Charles had been stunned, but quickly muttered an apology before giving his wife a kiss. She had only spoken in her native tongue when she was surprised or angry.

It was only about a week between the King informing them of his decision and the arrival of the Admiral, and Westhrope had been buzzing with activity. All the linens were replaced, the mattresses stuffed and turned, every nook and cranny cleaned, and the extravagant menu planned. Amelia stood at the helm of the whole operation, directing all of the servants. Charles had begged her to let the housekeeper take charge, but Amelia was determined to make everything perfect.

Constance became Amelia's second-in-command. She had never thought that she would leave the palace and the service of the King, but she was glad that she did. Amelia was incredibly kind and fair, especially given that Constance was no more than the bastard daughter of a minor noble. At least Amelia had been the illegitimate daughter of a king.

Now Charles and Amelia stood side-by-side. Constance stood behind Amelia and slightly to the right. She wore a dress that Amelia had helped her make, and felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world. It was the latest fashion as well, something that she never thought she would own.

As the Admiral and his party walked toward the family, the herald announced "His Excellency, Phillipe Chabot de Brion, Admiral of France."

Both parties bowed and issued their greeting.

"It is my privilege and pleasure to welcome you and your party to my home and to England," Charles said. "May I present my wife, the Duchess."

"Madame," Phillipe greeted warmly, turning his attention to Amelia. "Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer." _I am delighted to meet you._

"Vous aussi, Votre Excellence," Amelia responded, impressing the Admiral with her near-flawless pronunciation. _You as well, Your Excellency._

Phillipe smiled. "And, with your permission, may I present my secretary, Monsieur Alfonse Gontier, and my niece, Mademoiselle Germaine." Both of the parties mentioned greeted Charles and Amelia.

"Mademoiselle, vous êtes très jolie," Amelia complemented sincerely. _Mademoiselle, you are very pretty._ She simply adored the French fashions, especially the hat that Germaine wore. Her admiration for the French woman diminished as she observed the seductive expression that crossed her face while she greeted Charles. Amelia was delighted to see her husband not reciprocate.

"So, tell me, Your Grace, what are we to expect?" Phillipe asked.

"I am to entertain you and your staff here for a few days, then the King invites you to dine at court," Charles responded.

"Very good," the Admiral replied.

"There is one other thing," Charles continued. "I am told that Queen Anne has planned a banquet in your honor, and a tennis match." The Admiral made no response, as if the name held no meaning to him. "I believe you met Her Majesty once before in Calais when she accompanied his majesty before her coronation.

Phillipe appeared to think for a few seconds before he responded, saying "I may have, but I have no recollection of any such meeting, and, alas, I don't play tennis." He smiled.

Charles and Amelia both smiled. "Shall we?" Charles asked. The couple led the ambassador deeper into their home.

* * *

While Charles and the Admiral went out to ride, Amelia sat by one of the windows, stitching a new maternity dress. She and Charles had only been reunited for a few weeks, but she was confident that she would be with child soon, since the pair had spent a fair amount of time in their bedchamber together.

It was a beautiful summer morning in the country, and Amelia was enjoying the fresh air when someone cleared their throat. She turned away from the window quickly, startled by the sudden intrusion. "Vous me fait peur, Monsieur Alfonse. Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?" she said. _You startled me, Monsieur Alfonse. How are you today?_

The secretary smiled and bowed. "Good afternoon, Madame. I was simply wandering through your lovely estate. May I join you?"

Amelia smiled cordially and gestured to the seat across from her. "How are you finding England so far, Mr. Secretary?" she asked.

"The country is très beau, Madame. I enjoy the fresh air. It is a welcome change from the smell of Paris," he responded. "Might I ask why you speak French so well?"

"I am the daughter of a King, at one point in my life poised to marry the heir to the throne of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. French is the language of diplomats, is it not?" she responded.

"Daughter of a king? King Henry of England?" Alfonse implored. He had not been informed that the King had three daughters.

Amelia nodded. "Daughter of Henry of England and Catherine, the Dowager Princess of Wales."

Alfonse allowed this to sink in. "Do you have children, Madame?" he asked. He was sure that King Francis would be delighted to hear that one of the Princesses of England had a child.

"I do, in fact, Mr. Secretary. His Grace and I have a little boy named John. He's a little over a year old." And with that, Amelia gushed about her son, telling the Monsieur stories with a proud gleam in her eye.

"Are you expecting?" Alfonse asked Amelia after she was done with her stories. He gestured to the partially-finished dress in her hands when she gave him a look of confusion.

"I do not know yet, Monsieur. The Duke and I were only recently reunited after an incident at court at the beginning of the year, but we are hopeful," she responded with a smile.

Alfonse simply nodded in understanding. He just hoped that the Admiral's idiotic niece didn't ruin things between the Duke and the Duchess. They seemed like a very lovely couple.

* * *

"Votre Excellence, je pense qu'il pourrait y avoir une autre solution à la proposition de notre roi," Alfonse said to Phillipe as soon as he had returned from his ride. _Your Excellency, I think there might be another solution to the proposition of our king._

"Comment?" Phillipe replied. _How?_

"Saviez-vous que le roi Henry el la reine Catherine ont eu une seconde fille?" Alfonse asked. _Did you know that King Henry and Queen Catherine had a second daughter?_

Phillipe thought about this for a moment. He remembered that someone had mentioned it years ago when the two kings met at Calais. Mary had been contracted to marry the Dauphin, and Henry had bragged about his second daughter marrying someone else. "Je pensais qu'elle avait èspousè quelau'un d'autre," he stated, trying to remember who. _I thought she had married someone else_.

"Son fiancé est mort, et elle est maintnant marièe au duc de Suffolk!" Alfonse exclaimed. "Et elle a un fils!" _Her betrothed died, and now she is married to the Duke of Suffolk! And she has a son!_

Phillipe thought for a moment. This was great news. He believed Francis would be very pleased. There were now more alternatives to offer the King when it came to the marriage. He immediately started to dictate a letter to Francis.


	12. The Definition of Love III

7 August 1535

Constance adored John. He was an adorable boy, with his round cheeks and wide smile. While Amelia and Charles were at the dinner for the French Admiral, Constance had been trusted with John. It was late in the evening, and John had been put to bed not long ago. Constance sat by the light of the fire stitching.

Before she had become Amelia's maid, her life had been awful. Maids were neither to be seen nor heard, yet for some reason, someone would always walk in on her right before she left. The other maids had ridiculed her, and the keeper of the house made sure to punish her all the time for her indiscretions.

But then she had met Amelia, who had been kind to her. Amelia did not care if she returned to her bedchamber to find Constance changing the linens or stoking the fire. Instead of scolding her, Amelia struck up conversations. They would discuss life at court, literature, religion, and, of course, the weather.

Constance could hear the two guards posted outside the door laugh. The King himself had placed them there for John's safety. Even though it had been months since the mysterious attack, the King took no chances when it came to his grandson's safety.

The sound outside changed. They began to argue. Constance heard them mention "Amelia," "Boleyn," "heir," "John," and "kill." The last word sent a cold chill down her spine.

Instead of sitting idly, she hurried over to John's crib and quickly woke him. She picked the little boy up in her arms, and he smiled sleepily at her. "Hello little one," she cooed. "You need to be a good boy for me. Do not make a sound until you hear your mother and father, alright?"

The little boy nodded and went back to sleep, burying himself in Constance's arms. The sound of the men arguing outside got louder, and Constance felt more panicked. She hurried over to the wardrobe in the back of the bedchamber and threw open the doors, searching for a place that she could hide John. The trunk in the bottom of the wardrobe contained some of Amelia's half-finished dressed, and she carefully nestled John in them before closing the wardrobe doors and returning to her seat by the fire.

Before she could take another stitch, the door to the chamber burst open, and one of the guards burst in. He was a big, burly man with a long, scruffy beard. His pike had been abandoned in favor of a bloody dagger. Constance peeked around him to see his companion dead on the stone behind him.

Her heart hammered. Was this the assassin? "C-c-can I help you s-s-sir?" she asked, her heart hammering in her chest as her voice wavered.

"Where is the boy?" he asked, his voice low.

"He is not here," she responded, trying to make her voice sound more confident. "His Majesty puts little trust in anyone when it comes to his son. I believe he is with the Lady Latimer tonight." Constance knew full well that the Lady Latimer was, in fact, with the ailing Lord Latimer, far from London.

"I think you're lying, Miss," the man responded.

"What do I have to gain from lying, sir?" she asked in response.

Apparently, the answer didn't suffice. Even with her eyes trained on the dagger the whole time, she didn't see it coming.

* * *

The feast looked simply fantastic. Amelia was glad that she was back at court. The two weeks she had spent at Westhorpe were wonderful, but a little stressful. She had made friends with Monsieur Gontier, and had learned of his own wife and children that he missed when he travelled with the Admiral.

There had been great stress as well. Every time she had seen Mademoiselle Germaine, her eyes had been on Charles. Charles had never returned her looks up until the day after his ride with the Admiral, which was shortly before they were to bring the French party to court.

But once they were at court, as Charles and Amelia stood on the side of the dance floor, watching the courtiers waltz, Amelia noticed the looks between her husband and Mademoiselle Germaine. She looked at Charles occasionally, a flirtatious look in her eyes and a coy smile on her face. He, on the other hand, never shifted his gaze from her.

A dreadful feeling began to well up in Amelia's stomach. She had seen that look in court back in Denmark before. It was the one that the woman Dyveke Sigbritsdatter had always given Christian while Isabella was pregnant. Dyveke was Christian's mistress. The look between Mademoiselle Germaine and Charles could only mean one thing.

Amelia felt tears well up in her eyes, and she quickly tore her eyes away and hurried out of the hall. The clapping of the courtiers covered up the sounds of her footsteps as she ran.

* * *

"What instructions do you have from your master with regard to the betrothal of my daughter Elizabeth to the Duke of Angoulême?" Henry asked the Admiral as they walked into Henry's chambers. He was eager to get down to business, to talk about marriage.

Phillipe paused for a moment. He was unsure of how to proceed. "His Majesty regrets that such a proposition is impossible," Phillipe began.

"Why impossible?" Henry asked impatiently.

"Much as he loves Your Majesty, the King cannot agree to betroth his beloved son to a…" he paused, thinking of how to word his statement without upsetting the King. "To a bride whose legitimacy is not accepted by His Holiness Pope Paul, by Holy Church itself, nor even by the Emperor."

Everyone is the room drew in a collective breath. Henry was beginning to feel angry, and Cromwell was beginning to feel anxious.

"However," Phillipe continued, "His Majesty, to demonstrate his love, proposes two other matches for Your Majesty to consider. He would consent to the betrothal of the Dauphin to Lady Mary, your legitimate daughter. He would also consent to the betrothal of John, your grandson by your other legitimate daughter, the Lady Amelia, to his niece, Jeanne d'Albret. If you do not agree to the match, my master will marry his son to the Emperor's daughter and his niece to the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg, leaving your country isolated in Europe."

Henry's anger grew with each of the Admiral's statements, until he was nearly shaking with rage. He turned and gave Cromwell a look.

"Excellence, your audience with his majesty is now over," Cromwell said smoothly, taking the King's look as one that meant the Admiral had to leave.

Phillipe bowed and left before Henry snuffed out a candle with his bare hand in anger.

* * *

It felt like ages had passed before Charles found Amelia. By then, she had stopped weeping, only the remnants of tears she had shed still fresh on her cheeks.

It was a moment before Charles spoke. He felt guilt heavy in his heart. He hated to see his wife sad. After she had miscarried, it nearly killed him, even though he had not been the cause. Now, her sadness was entirely his fault, and that's what hurt him the most.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. It was the only think that he could think of to say. "I have no excuse for you, Amelia. I thought those days were behind me."

She shook her head. "All I heard from the ladies at court when our betrothal was announced was that you had a penchant for mistresses. Perhaps human nature can never change," she replied in a sad yet biting tone.

Charles was crushed. "I swear to you, it'll never happen again. I love you too much," he responded. All he wanted was for her to turn and look at him. "I have no right to ask you to believe me, but it's true."

"I don't know if I believe you, Charles," she responded, this time sadness edging out any anger that she had. All her life, she had been cast aside. Her parents, Christian and Isabella, and even her own governess Barbara had cast her aside in favor of something they thought was better. Now her husband had cast her aside for the first beautiful thing that passed by. Was Mademoiselle Germaine even the first? What about the time they had been separated? How many women had he bedded then?

As she began to walk away without so much as a glance at him, Charles felt his heart sink down to his feet. He had been so careful. He had moved them to Suffolk when Amelia was first pregnant so that he didn't have to deal with nobles offering their daughters. While they were separated, he did not let his eyes wander. But one small incident in a barn after a long day in the sun and he had broken Amelia's heart. He wondered if he would ever get it back.

* * *

Amelia wanted nothing more than to sit by the fire with her son and tell Constance everything. She was sad, angry, and jealous all rolled into one. She had spent a great deal of time with Monsieur Gontier, unsupervised, and yet nothing had transpired between them. Why did it have to be different when it came to Charles?

She didn't notice the massive bloodstain on the floor as she entered her chamber. Instead, she was greeted with Constance lying dead on the floor. Amelia let out a scream so loud that she believed the entire castle would hear as she quickly backed out of the chamber, her back hitting the opposite wall of the hallway. She crumpled to the floor, and hand covering her mouth.

A sudden thought hit her. John. Where was John? She rushed back into the room, frantically calling her son's name. She could hear a faint wail. As she neared the wardrobe, it got louder. She found her son nestled in some of her dresses.

Charles found them not ten minutes later after one of the grooms had grabbed him from the dinner. Servants were already working quickly to remove bloodstains from the stones. He saw the body carried out of their chambers wrapped in a sheet. His quarters were in a complete disarray.

He found Amelia curled up in the corner of the room with their son held tight in her arms. Her eyes were open wide, unblinking, her tears long since dried up. He knelt down in front of her and gently took John from her, placing the sleeping boy in his cradle.

He turned to his wife. She looked so small and fragile. First, she had figured out that he had been unfaithful, and then one of her closest companions had been killed protecting her only child. All he could do was take Amelia in his arms.

Amelia felt Charles cradle her in his arms, but she felt as though she was back in the Netherlands. For the first time in a long time, she felt alone.


	13. Matters of State

**A/N: Well, this is where the show and history disagree. Henry met Jane for the first time on 10 September 1535, although the show makes it seem like it happened closer to May given the Mayday celebrations. Catherine died on 7 January 1536, and the following day, both Henry and Anne wore yellow, a color signifying joy. Anne's last miscarriage happened on 29 January 1536. Anne was arrested on 1 May 1536. The previously mentioned events will occur with history (since the timeline makes more sense), and several scenes from the show will be altered to reflect this.**

* * *

7 January 1536

In the past few months, Amelia had once again been staying at Westhorpe, but this time, Charles was with her for most of it. She had decided early on that she was no longer going to feel alone. So naturally, the first thing that she did was give Charles a second chance. He had been overjoyed when she had, and picked her up to spin her around before kissing her passionately.

Amelia figured that she was lucky to be married to Charles. He had always been there for her, since she had landed in England, and was the first person to try and not make her feel isolated. He didn't take a mistress while she had been pregnant, either time, even though most men at court would have. Based on the number of women at court who gossiped about who their husband was currently sleeping with or who was pregnant with their bastard child, it was clear to Amelia that she was one of the lucky ones. Husbands never told their wives of their infidelities, but Charles had admitted to it instead of denying it, and expressed guilt.

Therefore, Amelia had given Charles one more chance. At least she wasn't married to George. According to his wife Jane, whom Amelia had taken a liking to, he cared more about his sister than his wife.

But today, Amelia was conflicted. She was sad, because she was informed of the death of her mother. But she was also overjoyed, because she had discovered that she was once again with child.

She was upset that she had never gotten the chance to meet her mother. The memories she had of her were very faint, and most of the stories that she heard had come from Eustace. She was sad that her mother would never meet John, her grandson, or the child that Amelia had discovered she was carrying.

She was overjoyed that she was pregnant. After losing her last child, Amelia had been nervous about whether or not she would be able to have more children. She knew that she wanted to have more children, and that she wanted to give John a sibling.

By the evening, her happiness had worn away the sadness that she felt.

"Charles!" she called as she saw her husband exit from the council chambers. "I have something I need to tell you!"

Several other lords turned their heads to look at Amelia, but simply smiled and nodded at her when they saw her.

Charles walked over to her calmly, taking his time. "What is it you needed to tell me so badly that you had to shout about it, love?" he asked, a smile on his face. Her excitement over whatever it was amused him.

"You took your time coming over here, dear husband," she replied. "I think I will take my time in telling you."

She turned to walk away from him, a coy smile on her face. She only took a few steps before Charles's hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back towards him, spinning her around so she she was pressed against his chest. His arms found their way around her waist as hers reached up and around the back of his neck.

"Please tell me what it is, darling," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

She giggled and stood on her tip-toes to reach his ear. "I do believe that John will have a sibling soon," she whispered in response.

Charles took a small step back and his eyes dropped to her stomach. "Really?" he asked, as though he almost didn't believe her.

She only nodded her head in response, and Charles could only embrace her tightly in response, praying to God that no one would try and harm his wife, son, or unborn child any more.

"Would you like to return to Westhorpe?" Charles asked.

Amelia shook her head. "Whomever attacked me was scared of something and wanted me to feel more terrified than them. I don't want to be scared, Charles. I want to be strong so they are scared."

* * *

8 January 1536

The day following Catherine's death, Henry and Anne held a banquet. There was dancing and feasting and general merriment. Both the King and Queen wore yellow, as did Elizabeth, who was present at court for the first time since she had been a baby.

"John!" Charles had called when he saw the man.

Sir John bowed. "Your Grace," he greeted.

"I would like to introduce you to my wife, Amelia," Charles said. "Amelia, this is Sir John. The King and I stayed with him a few months ago on a hunting trip."

"I remember that trip," Amelia responded. "Charles says my father was quite taken by your daughter's beauty. I do hope she comes to court."

"Thank you, Lady Amelia," Sir John responded, bowing low. "I shall pass on the compliment."

Sir John and Charles continued to talk about politics, and Amelia excused herself from the conversation. She had seen George's wife Jane wandering by herself and decided to talk to her.

"Good afternoon, Lady Jane," she said cheerily. "How are you?"

"Dreadful," Jane replied. "I believe that my husband does not love me, and forsakes my bed for another."

"I am sorry to hear that," Amelia responded, and she truly was. She couldn't imagine Charles abandoning her for another woman, and never wanted to.

The two women continued to talk about familiar things, including Amelia's pregnancy. Jane was truly happy for the girl.

"Amelia!" a voice called. She turned to see her father, holding both Elizabeth and John. She had let John play with the other children, knowing that he was safe under the watchful eye of the Lady Bryant. Amelia had heard rumors of Lady Bryant's son, and it was clear that no one would want to mess with her.

Amelia bid Jane farewell and hurried to the other side of the banquet wall. "Father," she greeted, bowing her head.

"Elizabeth, this is your sister, the Lady Amelia," Henry said to his youngest daughter. "And John is her son."

Amelia laughed. "And John is soon to have a younger sibling," she replied, taking him from her father.

"I bet that Charles is pleased," Henry responded with a smile on his face.

She nodded. "I believe that he is, father," she said. "And John is very happy as well!"

They both put their children down to go play with the others under Lady Bryant's watchful eye. Amelia was pleased to see the John and Elizabeth got along well. A stray thought about her and Mary playing as children entered her head, but she was quick to dismiss it. Mary didn't remember her. She hadn't even bothered to respond to Amelia's letter.

"So are you to return to Suffolk then?" the King asked as he offered his daughter his arm.

She took it and began to walk alongside her father. "I do not think so," she responded. "Westhorpe may be my home, but I think that for now, my place is here, showing the world that I am not afraid."

"That is bold," Henry responded. "I think you would have made an excellent queen."

"Perhaps I would have," Amelia replied. "But for now, I am the Duchess of Suffolk, and I am happy with that."

And she was. She had her husband, her son, and a child soon to be born. Nothing could be better.

* * *

"Yes, father," Anne said, with a slight annoyance in her voice.

"I have heard some reports that alarm me," he stated, walking quickly to catch up with the Queen.

"What reports?" She asked.

"It seems you have quarreled with Mr. Cromwell," he responded.

She paused for a brief moment, choosing her words carefully. "We disagreed on an important and public issue," she said.

"Anne, I did not bring you up to have opinions or to express them or to quarrel with those closest to the Crown," Thomas responded, a hint of anger in his voice. He was used to being in control, and liked when he was. But right now, he could not control his daughter.

"But I am closest to the Crown!" she responded with annoyance. "I am the King's wife!"

"And you should remember how you got there!" Thomas said angrily, grabbing his daughter and forcing her to stop and look at him.

She pulled herself out of his grasp and turned to face him squarely. "I know how I got there," she told him, the annoyance in her voice replaced with anger. "It was not all you. It was not all you, or Norfolk, or George, or any other man you want to name! It was also me." Her voice got quieter. "He fell in love with me. He respected me, and my opinions."

With a nod, Anne turned to walk away from her father, who stood slightly dumbfounded behind her. A smile broke out on her face and she began to laugh as if she had gone insane. She turned back to her father and continued to laugh.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"You have no need to worry," she said with a smile on her face. "There is good news all around! Catherine is dead, and I…" She took a few steps close to her father. "I am pregnant. Do you understand? I am carrying the King's son."

A wide smile broke out across Thomas's face and he began to laugh with joy. Anne was truly Queen and carrying the future King of England. He could not be more satisfied.

"We are on the edge of a golden world!" Anne called at the top of her lungs as she backed away from her father, spinning around and around in joy as people bowed down around her. There was nothing that could stop her now.


	14. Lady In Waiting I

**A/N: On 24 January 1536, Henry's horse really did fall on him in the tiltyard at Greenwich, throwing everyone into a panic during the two hours he was unconscious. After the ulcer on his leg formed, Henry put on a lot of weight. His waist was over 50 inches when he died.**

* * *

15 January 1536

"I managed, with some difficulty, to obtain a copy of the secret report of the autopsy of Queen Catherine," Eustace told Brereton urgently.

"And what was discovered?" the groom asked.

"Most of her internal organs were normal, except for the heart, which had a black growth, hideous to behold, which clung closely to the outside," Eustace responded.

"What could have caused it?" Brereton asked with urgency in his voice.

"A doctor, whom I trust completely, told me that such a growth was consistent with the evidence of poisoning," Eustace replied. Brereton looked up with surprise in his eyes. "Had the body been properly examined, traces of it would have been seen."

"Oh, Catherine," Brereton responded, bending his head down until it reached his palm. He was truly sorry for the fate of the deceased Queen.

"No," Eustace said softly. "There is little need to pray for her. Her Holy soul is in eternal rest, but I worry for her daughters."

"Poor Mary and Amelia," Brereton responded. "There are rumors circulating that Amelia is pregnant again. I worry what might happen to her."

"As do I," Eustace said, looking over the edge of the balcony at the bodies moving about on the chamber floor. "We shall talk more later," Eustace told him before leaving.

* * *

20 January 1536

"Do you know them?" Anne asked her brother as they played cards. She planned on being extra cautious with her pregnancy this time around, opting to spend most of her time in her chambers. Therefore, she often called on George to come and keep her company, or Mark if George was busy.

"Who? Know who?" George questioned in response.

"The Seymours," Anne replied. She was incredibly anxious over the arrival of the family at court. Henry had told her that it was because John had done a great kindness to him, but she wasn't so sure. Jane was gorgeous, after all.

"I may have met Edward, the eldest son," George said nonchalantly, looking through the cards he held in his hands. "He's a cold fish. I don't know about the others." He looked up from the cards he was shuffling in his hands. "Are you afraid of them?" he asked his sister.

"Father thinks they may be secret supporters of Mary and Amelia," Anne told him.

"Ah, Mary and Amelia," George sang. "It's a pity they're not keeping company with their mother." On one hand, he meant what he said. The fewer illegitimate children Henry had, the better chance Anne's children had at succeeding him on the throne. On the other hand, Amelia's death would leave her son without a mother, and not even George would wish that on anyone.

"They tell me that Mary is ill again, and that Amelia is pregnant," Anne said as George began to deal the cards. "The King has given permission for Mary to be removed from Elizabeth's household for her comfort and for Amelia to choose whether or not she returns to Westhorpe for her confinement."

"Those are acts of kindness, no more than that," George told her, pausing to look directly into her eyes to get his point across.

"No," she responded. "No, he favors them. He always has been and still is, though he pretends differently, at least with Mary, to my face."

"How ill is Mary?" George asked.

"Very, so I'm told, with a fever and constant vomiting," Anne replied with annoyance, as if she had told this story a thousand times before.

"Then, with God's good grace, we may not have to meddle with them after all," George said with a smile.

Anne smiled as well. George placed his first bet, and the game began.

* * *

24 January 1536

Amelia laughed with glee as her husband bowed at her when he passed on his horse. She had never been to a tournament before, and she was excited to see her husband joust. Unlike Anne, she believed that her excitement and happiness would be good for the baby, and so she was sitting in the tiltyard next to Lady Rochford, watching the joust happen.

"He's a fine husband," Jane commented while they clapped.

Her face went sour thinking of her own husband. Amelia did not know what had transpired between them a few nights ago, and could only rub Jane's shoulder reassuringly as they watched.

"Point to the Duke of Suffolk!" the herald announced as Charles's lance shattered against his opponent's shield. Amelia cheered.

"Is Her Majesty not attending the tournament today?" Amelia asked Jane. She was curious as to why the Queen would not attend if her own husband was planning on participating.

"No," Jane replied. "Apparently she's worried the excitements of the tournament might harm her unborn son, or so she supposes it to be. Personally, I hope she did not visit the same astrologer as before."

Amelia laughed quietly. She did wish Anne all the best with the child, as she would any woman who was pregnant. She knew that Jane was not a fan of the family that she had married into, but always seemed to have the best gossip about them.

Charles won another point, and the crowd cheered as he was declared the winner of the match. Amelia couldn't help but think of how strong her husband had looked when he got off his horse and walked into the stands.

"Well done, love," she had whispered in his ear before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He smiled broadly at her. "Thank you," he replied.

The two watched as the King got ready to break lances with Sir Henry Norris, then stood in horror as Henry's horse fell over and on top of him. She could hear her father's cry of pain through the gasps and shouts of the crowd.

She remembered Charles shouting as he pushed his way to the tiltyard as she covered her mouth with her hand in horror. Amelia turned to Jane, who had a similar horrified look on her face. When Jane saw Amelia on the verge of tears, she wrapped her arms around the younger girl and turned her away from the scene.

"They are moving him away, Amelia," she whispered. "Would you like to follow?"

"If they are moving him, they are afraid," she replied. "I must go to the chapel and pray. There's nothing that I can do here, but I can pray. Please let Charles know where I have gone, and send a messenger if there is any news."

Jane nodded, and Amelia hurried off to the chapel as Jane followed the procession of people.

* * *

Amelia was already in the chapel when Anne arrived. Amelia turned her head for a moment to see who had entered. When she saw it was the Queen, she bowed her head, muttered a quick greeting, and moved over to give Anne room to pray as well.

Anne could see the trails of tears that had fallen down Amelia's face. She knew that Amelia loved her father, and she knew that she herself loved her husband. Neither wanted Henry to die. So instead of saying anything, Anne simply knelt down, her cheeks stained with her own tears, and prayed alongside Amelia, hoping that God would hear the two of them together. It was the only thing that they could do now.

Cromwell entered not long after to see the two women kneeling side-by-side. They both wordlessly turned their heads to see him, and then turned back to pray. He knelt down behind them in his own prayers, astonished that the Queen would be seen kneeling beside one of her husband's illegitimate daughters.

* * *

When the messenger came to announce that the King was alive, Amelia could not have been more excited. She thanked God one last time before curtsying deeply to Anne to show her thanks. It was not a long walk back to the tiltyard, but it seemed like forever to her now. She could hear Charles calling her name as she got closer, and walked more quickly to see him.

His arms wrapped around her the moment he saw her, and he planted a kiss on her forehead. "Thanks be to God," was all he said to her before bringing her inside the tent.

Henry sat on the wooden table, his head pounding from the accident. He smiled when he saw Charles usher Amelia inside, and quickly dismissed the lord he was talking to and opened his arms to her. She hugged him tightly.

"Please don't frighten me again like that, father," she told him.

"I won't any longer, I promise," he replied as she stepped back. He took her hands in his. "I wouldn't want to miss the birth of my second grandchild," he chuckled.

Amelia laughed as well. She had been thinking the whole time that she wanted her father to live so that he could meet his next grandchild, and so that Elizabeth would be old enough and mature enough to take the throne without Thomas Boleyn acting as Lord Protector. The though hadn't even crossed her mind that people were beginning to rally that she or Mary should take the throne, since they were legitimate in the minds of many, and Amelia already had a male heir.

For now, she was just happy that her father was still alive.


	15. Lady In Waiting II

**A/N: Frances Anne Hastings (b. 1533) was the daughter of Catherine Pole and Frances Hastings, 2** **nd** **Earl of Huntingdon, who was the son of George Hastings, 1** **st** **Earl of Huntingdon and Anne Stafford. Shortly before Anne's marriage to George, she was rumored to be found in her room by her brother, Edward Stafford, 3** **rd** **Duke of Buckingham, with Sir William Compton. In the show, Anne is depicted as Edward's daughter, caught with Charles Brandon, and then married to Sir William Compton. We'll follow history on this one to make it a little less awkward all around.**

* * *

25 January 1536

An alliance between the King of England and the Holy Roman Emperor would not be easy, Cromwell decided. They both had very different ideas when it came to how the alliance should go. The King was stubborn when it came to the Act of Succession, but there was no way the Emperor would accept that Elizabeth should ascend to the throne over Mary or Amelia.

"His Excellency, the Imperial Ambassador," Cromwell's herald announced as Cromwell was going over some of the letters he had received from various ambassadors.

Cromwell looked up, a slight look of surprise on his face. Eustace's visit was entirely unexpected. "Excellency," he greeted as Eustace entered and took the seat across his desk.

"I wondered if you had put the Emperor's proposals to the King," Eustace said, not bothering with pleasantries and getting right to business.

Cromwell smiled uncomfortably as he folded his hands. "Not exactly," he replied. He leaned forward and paused for a moment, trying to put his thoughts into words. "I wish with all my heart that we could reach a speedy accommodation, however, in the question of legitimizing the Lady Mary and the Lady Amelia, there remains one great obstacle."

"You mean the Queen," Eustace interjected. When Cromwell didn't respond, Eustace took it as a cue to continue. "I know she hates the Emperor as Catherine's nephew. They say that when she was told of his victory over the Turks, she looked like a dog being thrown out of a window. But what can we do?"

"If there is an obstacle in our path, Excellency," Cromwell responded, "we must find a way around it."

It was a few more moments before Eustace left. Cromwell went back to his thoughts. It would be in England's best interest to have an alliance with the Emperor. Getting the King to agree to a change in the line of succession, as long as Anne was still around, would nearly be impossible. There would be a better chance of at least convincing him to put Amelia and her son into the line of succession is Anne didn't stand in his way.

* * *

29 January 1536

"It's true, what they have whispered," Henry muttered, partly to himself and partly to Cromwell. His wife had just lost his son, his only son. "I shut my ears to them, but now I know it to be true. I made this marriage seduced by witchcraft, and for that reason consider it to be null and void, and the evidence is that God will not permit us male issue. So now I believe with all my heart, that I will take another wife."

* * *

Amelia and John had been enjoying a long morning stroll in the gardens with Lady Catherine Pole when Charles found her. Though it was quite chilly outside, Amelia enjoyed the feeling of the fresh winter air against her skin. It was calming and refreshing. She was very glad to find a friend in Catherine Pole. Catherine was pregnant as well, and had brought her daughter Frances along for the walk as well.

"I think John is quite taken with Frances," Amelia said with a laugh, watching the two run through the snow.

"I agree," said Catherine. "Perhaps there is a marriage in their future."

The two women laughed. It would be a good match, of course, the future Duke of Suffolk and the eldest daughter of the Earl of Huntingdon.

Charles approached the women with a solemn look on his face. Amelia's smile slowly faded into a frown. "What is it? What's wrong?" Amelia asked, her voice laced with concern. "Has something happened to my father?"

Charles opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, turning his head away. "The Queen has miscarried her son," he said quietly. Both Amelia and Catherine gasped. "There are rumors going around court that the Queen might be losing favor with the King, and if those are true, then I don't know what lengths Thomas Boleyn will go to in order to keep his power. I want you to go back to Westhorpe with John."

"No, I can't go to Suffolk, not now, not if there is change on the horizon," Amelia responded. "Put as many guards as you need to place on me to feel safe. But I need to be here, Charles, because if I go home, then you will remain here for God knows how long." She took his hand and placed it softly against her stomach. "Besides, I would not want you, nor my father, to miss the birth of our second child."

It seemed like a long time before Charles nodded. "At the first sign of danger, I beg you to listen to me and pack your bags," he told her quietly before kissing her cheek.

"Papa!" a small voice called. John ran over to his father, followed closely by Francis.

Charles laughed when he saw his son and scooped him up, lifting him high above his head before placing him on the ground and kneeling down. "John, my boy, who is this lovely young lady behind you?" he asked.

"This is Frances," John told his father. "Lady Frances Hastings. I'm going to marry her one day."

"You are, are you?" Charles asked. John nodded, and Charles smiled. "Well, then it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Frances," Charles said with a bow.

The small girl giggled and curtsied in response before running off once more with John chasing her. Even though Charles had business he was supposed to attend to at court, he decided that he deserved a short break, and took his wife's hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Charles, Amelia, and Catherine continued to walk through the gardens, speaking of familiar things and watching the children play ahead of them, their energies a welcome distraction from the stress and tensions at court.


	16. The Act of Treason I

**A/N: A History Lesson – This has almost no relevance to the chapter, but I find this interesting. In the show, Anne was arrested last on suspicion of adultery and incest. In face, she was arrested only a day after Mark Smeaton. The order went Smeaton on April 30, Anne and Sir Henry Norris on May 1, George Boleyn on May 2, Sir Francis Weston and Sir William Brereton on May 4, and Sir Thomas Wyatt and Sir Richard Page on May 5.**

* * *

16 April 1536

The Imperial Ambassador was coming to court today, and Charles was busy making preparations. Several ambassadors had arrived already, including the French one, who had been cornered by the Queen shortly after his arrival.

"Your Grace!" a voice rang out from behind Charles. He turned to see a man slightly shorter than him with neatly trimmed brown hair and dark eyes. The man bowed. "Your Grace, I am Francis Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon," he said.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord," Charles responded with a nod of his head.

"Your Grace, my wife tells me that your son John and my daughter Frances get along rather well, and has hinted that she wishes for me to speak with you about the potential of arranging a marriage between them," Francis explained.

Charles smiled. "I will have to talk to my wife and the King, but I like the idea. I shall see about having a contract drawn up," he responded.

Francis thanked Charles and bid him farewell before rushing off to tend to his own affairs. Charles turned back to the hall before him and watched as the palace servants worked to prepare it for the feast that night. He wondered what Amelia would think of the marriage. She had been near John's age when her marriage to Hans had been arranged. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for her to understand that she had to leave her family behind and live in a different country. He wondered why Mary hadn't been sent to live with the Dauphin's family during their engagement or Spain to live with the Emperor until their marriage.

Whatever the reason, he was sure that John was not going to be leaving them any time soon, and any daughters they had would not become wards of other families if they were contracted to be married. He had realized that family was important to him, and he would protect the ones that he loved whatever the cost was.

* * *

Amelia had noticed the French Ambassador leaving the Queen's alcove in a huff. She was surprised by this. It was no secret that the Boleyns favored the French over the Imperialists. The feast had done nothing but confuse her. She had even overheard Thomas and George Boleyn making a toast with Eustace Chapuys only a few moments ago.

"Bonjour, Excellence," Amelia greeted the ambassador with a low curtsey. "Tout va bien?" _Hello, Excellency. Is everything okay?_

"Tout est très bien," the ambassador replied. "Mais, la reine a insulté toute la France!" _Everything is fine, but the Queen has insulted all of France!_

Amelia could tell there was anger in his voice. "Je suis désolé d'entendre cela, Excellence," Amelia responded. "Peut-être qu'elle est juste une mauvaise journée. Je l'ai entendu dire que Sa Majesté l'habitude d'être á la cour française. Je ne pense pas qu'elle pouvait hair votre peuple." _I am sorry to hear that, Excellency. Perhaps she is just having a bad day. I have heard that Her Majesty used to be at the French Court. I do not think she could hate your people._

The ambassador smiled sadly. "Vous n'êtes pas oblige de justifier ses paroles, ma dame. Je crains qu'il pourrait y avoir aucun moyen de." With that, he nodded his head and continued on his way out of the feast. _You don't have to justify her words, my lady. I am afraid that there might be no way to._

Arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, causing Amelia to jump in surprise and nearly spill her drink. She turned her head and looked up at her husband, who had a wide grin on his face.

"Hello, love," he whispered in her ear as he kissed her temple. "I have excellent news."

"Do you?" she responded, turning to face him.

He nodded. "Francis Hastings came to speak to me today. He wants to see about arranging a marriage between John and his daughter Frances," he told her.

Amelia smiled broadly. "John will be sad to hear that he must wait to marry Francis," was her only response.

* * *

"I hear that your master is anxious for an alliance?" Henry asked Eustace with a hint of impatience in his voice, waving off the nosy Boleyn men.

"He is, Your Majesty," Eustace responded with a smile.

"On what terms?" Henry countered almost immediately. He wanted an alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor, but not on some ridiculous terms, like placing his two older daughters above his daughter with Anne in the line of succession.

"On such terms as Mr. Cromwell has outlined to us," Eustace replied. Both men turned as Cromwell entered the room. "The restoration of some relation between England and Rome, the inclusion of the Lady Mary and the Lady Amelia in the line of succession, and support for the Emperor in his war with France over Milan," Eustace listed.

Henry chuckled. Oh, how he would love to get into a war with France.

"As far as the Lady Mary and Lady Amelia are concerned, it may be that God has not thought to send Your Majesty a male issue because He believes that England should have a female succession," Eustace continued.

That made Henry upset. He turned his back on the ambassador and took a few paces away from him. "What are you alleging, Excellency?" he asked, in a much louder tone. "Am I not a man as other men?" he shouted, turning to face the crowds with his last few words. He turned back to the ambassador. "Am I not?" he asked in a quieter tone. "AM I NOT?" he shouted in Eustace's face.

The music and festivities came to an abrupt halt.

"You do not know all my secrets!" Henry shouted.

Eustace, recognizing his cue to leave, bowed and started to exit.

Henry thought for a moment. He really needed to ally himself with France or the Holy Roman Empire, but the French had insulted him more. Instead of calling his legitimate daughter a bastard and his bastard daughters legitimate, as the French had done, the Emperor had only requested that Mary and Amelia be added to the line. Since they were bastards, they could be added behind Elizabeth.

He turned around and walked towards Eustace's retreating form. "I want everything in writing. The Emperor's offer, everything in writing," he told the older man urgently.

"That is not possible, Your Majesty!" Eustace called out as Henry turned and began to walk away.

Henry stopped. "Do you think I am a child, to be first whipped and then petted?" he asked as he began to once again walk back to the ambassador. He grabbed the ambassador by his doublet. "If your master wants to deal with me, he must first apologize for all his ill treatment of me in the past. He must accept Queen Anne!" There was a pause as Henry pointed to his wife sitting on her chair. "I have nothing more to say to your master," Henry said, releasing Eustace's doublet and walking away through the silent feast.


	17. The Act of Treason II

**A/N: A History Lesson – William Brereton, according to history, was not an assassin. There was in fact no assassination attempt made on Anne's life at her coronation. In real life, Brereton was about fifty years old, married, and had two sons. He was more than likely accused of adultery by Cromwell for political reasons, not because he was an actual suspect.**

* * *

16 May 1536

"Have you heard that the Queen has been convicted of high treason and sentenced to death?" Catherine Pole asked Amelia as they walked together in the early spring gardens. The contract between their two children had not yet been drawn up, but John had begged Amelia to let him spend time with his new friend. According to Catherine, Frances had done the same.

Amelia nodded. "My husband attended the trial," she replied. It had been a few days after her 19th birthday.

Catherine's face made a sour expression. "I could never imagine having an affair on my husband," Catherine said. "Especially with the hundreds of men who have been rumored to have shared her bed."

Amelia was about to responded when she heard her name being called by one of the King's grooms. She turned to see the young man hurrying towards her. "Forgive me, Lady Amelia," he said with a bow. "His Majesty requests that you come right away. It is an urgent matter."

"Shall I bring John as well?" Amelia asked the young man.

He shook his head. "His Majesty insisted that it would not be a good idea.

"I will be able to watch him for a short time," Catherine volunteered.

Amelia thanked her and bid good-bye to her friend and the children. The groom escorted her patiently back to the castle. Since Amelia was nearly seven months pregnant, she did not move with the same speed that the groom had come to fetch her with.

Henry stood at the window in his chambers, one of his hands covering his chin. He turned when the door opened and his daughter entered. She greeted him with a curtsey.

"I know who was behind the attacks against you and your family," Henry told her. He paused for a moment as Amelia processed what she had just been told. "George Boleyn admitted that his father had orchestrated both plots against you, and that there had been another plot in the works to poison you and your older sister."

Amelia stayed silent for a moment, unsure of what to think or say. She crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs at the table. "What is to happen to him?" she finally asked.

Henry sat down at the table across from her. "I was interested on hearing your thoughts on the matter," Henry told her.

He was testing Amelia. Henry badly wanted to add his daughters from his first marriage back into the line of succession, since he now believed that Elizabeth might not even be his daughter. Mary had yet to swear her allegiance to the King, but Amelia had. He wanted to see if his daughter could think like a Queen.

"He wanted to see both of my children dead, right?" she asked her father. He nodded. "Then maybe he should understand what it feels like. Have him watch his own children's deaths from the tower. Make him feel as helpless as I felt." Even though anger boiled up inside her, and a dangerous gleam flashed in her eyes, Amelia managed to remain calm and poised. "Give his daughter Mary's husband his son's title as Viscount Rochford and bring them back to court. Then, banish him instead. Let him live the rest of his days as far away from London as possible."

Henry sat back in his chair and smiled at his daughter. "I believe that that is an excellent idea," he told her.

"Thank you, father," Amelia replied. "May I ask you what is to happen to the Lady Elizabeth?" She remembered that her half-sister was only about John's age, and probably did not have a clue what was happening.

"She will no longer hold the title of Princess, since my marriage to Queen Anne is to be declared null and void," Henry told her. "Her household will be greatly reduced to compensate for her mother's expenses at the Tower. Beyond that, I am not sure."

"She is to become a bastard like me then," Amelia said, partly to herself and partly to her father. "If it pleases Your Majesty, I should like to take her to Westhorpe with me when I return in a few days. She is close to age in John, and there are not many children around for him to play with. Since I am pregnant, I cannot play many of the games that he would like to play, and since Charles will most likely remain here at court, I fear that John will get lonely quickly."

Henry pondered her statements. Placing Elizabeth in Amelia's care would certainly reduce the expense to him. "I'll allow you to take her," he stated. "I will not, however, provide any more for her expenses." He paused for a moment. "You shall also take your sister Mary with you. I will provide for her expenses granted you can convince her to agree to the Act of Supremecy."

Amelia nodded. "Thank you, father. I shall," she responded.

"They will be ready to go in three days' time," he said, rising from his seat. He offered his daughter his hand to help her to her feet. "I am anxious to hear news of your child. Please, do not stay away from court for long. You are sorely missed when you are gone."

She smiled at him and curtsied before bidding him farewell. Henry watched as his daughter left. There was no doubt in his mind that she would one day make an excellent ruler.

* * *

"Charles!" a woman's voice called out from behind him. He turned to see his wife standing near the opposite end of the hall. He stood there for a moment, expecting her to walk over. She simply stared back at him. The standoff lasted only a moment before he sighed and walked over to Amelia.

"Amelia," Charles greeted her with a kiss. "You look a little guilty."

"I may have asked my father if I could take care of my younger sister, the Lady Elizabeth, and he may have agreed and decided to send my older sister the Lady Mary with us back to Westhorpe," she said all in one breath. She paused to look up at her husband's face. "Please don't be angry with me. I was only trying to look out for my younger sister."

He looked down at her. "I am not angry," he whispered. "I am glad to see how deeply you care about your family. Lady Elizabeth and Lady Mary will always be welcome at Westhorpe. I'm sure John will be very excited."

"Thank you, Charles," she whispered back, stepping up on her toes to kiss him. "I did not want Elizabeth to be alone. She is so young, too young to understand what is happening to her. When I was her age, I didn't have a clue what was happening to me."

"You will make a fine role model for Elizabeth," Charles replied. "I'm sure Mary will be a good presence in the house as well, especially with the baby due any day now."

Charles gently placed one of his hands on Amelia's baby bump, and felt the baby kick in response. Both parents laughed. Their little family was growing.


	18. Destiny and Fortune

**A/N: Hey y'all. Thanks for being so patient. I'm in finals mode now, so I apologize about the time between updates. This chapter has been in the works for a few days now. It comes to you during a chemistry study break.**

* * *

19 May 1536

Rosalind was more than annoyed with the tiny, fussy, red-headed girl. Lady Elizabeth was no longer a princess, and she knew it. Rosalind wasn't sure if anyone had told her that her mother had been executed that morning or not, but frankly, she didn't care. While Lady Bryan had promised both the King and Queen that Lady Elizabeth did not cry or fuss, she had been very wrong. Perhaps it was because Lady Bryant's chambers were nowhere near Elizabeth's.

The maid sighed. At least someone else was coming to take the child away, and her prim-and-proper older sister too.

"Excuse me," a voice said behind her. Rosalind turned to see a tall woman with dark blonde hair and a rather baby bump. "I'm looking for the Lady Bryan. Do you know where I might find her?"

Rosalind forced a smile on her face. This must be Lady Amelia Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk. The lucky sister who was married instead of placed in Elizabeth's service. "Right down the hall, my lady. The third door on your left. I believe she is preparing the Lady Elizabeth for her departure," Rosalind responded.

"Thank you," Amelia replied, dipping her head in a showing of respect. Rosalind did the same.

Amelia continued down the hallway until she was three doors down on her left. The woman inside the room looked cold and harsh, dressed in all black with a slightly pinched face as if she had only frowned her entire life. She spoke in a low tone to the small child in front of her, who was crying and trying to tear herself from the lady's grasp.

Lady Bryan let Elizabeth go as soon as she saw Amelia in the doorway. "Lady Amelia," the governess greeted with a curtsey.

Amelia simply nodded her head. "Lady Bryant," she said cordially. She carefully knelt down in front of Elizabeth, who had turned towards her but refused to make eye contact. "You must be Lady Elizabeth," Amelia said.

Elizabeth nodded, but still refused to look at Amelia.

"You want to know something, Elizabeth?" Amelia asked. She paused and waited for Elizabeth to give an answer. "I'm your older sister," she told the younger girl after the younger girl nodded.

Elizabeth finally looked at Amelia. "Like Lady Mary?" she asked.

"Exactly like Lady Mary," Amelia responded. "We both have the same Papa."

A smile broke out across Elizabeth's face as she remembered her father. Her smile faded when she saw someone behind Amelia's shoulder.

Amelia followed Elizabeth's gaze, and saw her sister Mary standing behind her. The oldest daughter of King Henry stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her expression completely blank and and unreadable. She looked like the princess that she knew in her heart she was.

Mary worked hard to keep the expression of surprise off of her face. There was her younger sister, kneeling on the floor to be level to be equal to Elizabeth, a bastard daughter that the King did not even believe to be his.

"Mary!" Amelia exclaimed, trying to rise to her feet.

Mary flinched at the excitement in her voice. Her eyes widened when she saw Amelia's pregnant belly, but she refused to form an expression on her face.

Amelia was beyond excited to see her older sister. She walked over as quickly as she could manage and wrapped her arms tightly around the older girl. She felt Mary stiffen for a brief second, before cautiously returning the gesture. She was unsure of how to respond to the gesture that felt too familiar, especially since it was one she had not been used to receiving in the past.

"You look much better than the last news I had heard of you. When father told me that you were ill, I desperately wanted to come and take care of you, but he forbade it," Amelia said, pulling out of their embrace and instead gripping Mary's arms right above her elbows.

Mary smiled cautiously. "You are much more pregnant than what I had last heard of you," she responded. "Shouldn't you be in confinement?"

Amelia laughed. "I will rest once we return to Westhorpe," she promised. "I think you're going to love it there, Mary. The country air is so fresh, and the gardens are so beautiful to wander in. Oh, and I know my son John will absolutely love to have you and Elizabeth around," Amelia rambled.

"It seems we have a lot to catch up on," Mary told her, beginning to warm up to her younger sister.

Mary had been apprehensive when she had learned that she was being sent to live with her younger sister and her husband. At first, she had denied that her father would send her to live with her younger sister. She was angry and humiliated. Her sister was younger than her, and already married with a child. It should have been her. She was the crown princess, and was still the firstborn child of the true Queen. Why was her younger sister married instead of her?

She had tried to convince the Lady Bryant, and then Eustace, to be her advocate. Lady Bryant had told her that she was very lucky that the king and her younger sister still cared enough about her health and well-being to not toss her aside, as they could have easily done. Eustace, on the other hand, had promised her that living with Amelia would be purely to Mary's own benefit. Amelia was close to the king, and had a heart of gold. She would be a much better choice to be an advocate over the Imperial Ambassador who went in and out of favor.

"Will your Lord husband be joining us?" Mary asked her sister as Amelia reached her hand out to Elizabeth.

Amelia sighed. "Unfortunately, he will not be," she replied sadly. "Our father says that he is much too important at court right now. He plans on marrying Lady Jane Seymour soon. Charles will not be home until the wedding has happened."

Elizabeth took Amelia's outstretched hand. "Are we going to see Papa?" the small redhead asked.

"Not right now," Amelia replied, shaking her head sadly. "But, you will get to meet my son John. Are you excited about that?"

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, weighing her choices. Her father, or a new person? John eventually won out, and the little girl smiled widely and nodded her head. Amelia couldn't help but laugh a little at her response, and even Mary and the Lady Bryant cracked a smile.


	19. Civil Unrest I

**A/N: Here's a short little chapter because I had a spare few moments in my studying and I just had this image in my head and I needed to write about it. Yes, Anne was killed in the story. I'm sorry to all of the Anne fans out there. I've never really favored one Queen over another. There have been things about all of them that I don't like, and times that I've felt sympathy for them. Therefore, each Queen will have her time in the spotlight. Also, to anyone else going through midterms/finals, best of luck to you!**

* * *

31 May 1536

The wedding had been a joyous occasion, Charles decided. It was clear from the looks on the faces of all of the guests that people were more excited about Queen Jane than they had been about Anne Boleyn. As the King had promised Amelia, Mary Boleyn and her husband were back at court. Mary had a joyous expression on her face, but Charles could tell from the look in her eyes that the deaths of her brother and sister weighed heavily on her heart.

The King had decided to let Charles return home to Westhorpe the day after the wedding, and Charles left faster than a strike of lightning. He was anxious to return home to see Amelia. If there was one thing he did not want to miss, it was the birth of his second child.

He wondered how Amelia was getting along with her sisters. From what he knew of the Lady Mary, she had grown to be very prim and proper. She came off as cold and emotionally unattached whenever Charles had seen her in her adult years. It was probably resultant of having lost contact with her mother.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, he had no idea how she would act. She was so young. Had she even been able to understand that her mother was dead? Did she understand that she was no longer a princess and would have to behave differently?

How would John take it? He guessed that John would be excited to have more people around. He had loved being at court, spending time with Frances and Catherine. There were other children around court as well, but it was clear that John liked Frances above all the others.

He wasn't prepared for how alive the house was when he returned. Charles could hear John and Elizabeth laughing and screaming with joy. The pair were running through the different halls and rooms. Mary was smiling brightly and laughing as well as she chased the two children, her arms outstretched as though she was aiming to grab them.

Amelia was sitting in the front room, embroidering a dress she was making for Elizabeth, a wide smile on her face as she watched her sisters and son running around. When she saw Charles, her smile seemed to get brighter.

He walked over to her wordlessly, his own smile growing with each step he took. God, she was beautiful, and kind, and intelligent… it seemed every time he saw her he fell more and more in love. Charles helped Amelia out of her chair and kissed her passionately.

The giggles of children made them break away from each other. Charles looked over with a surprised look on his face. As soon as he saw John and Elizabeth, they took off in the other direction and headed for the garden.

Lady Mary stood near the door, her head turned away from the couple, a small smile on her face. She turned back when she noticed they had seen her. "Your Grace," she said, with a curtsy.

Charles looked at his wife, and then back at his sister-in-law. He walked over to Mary and offered her his hand, which she accepted.

"Lady Mary, you are welcome in our home at any time," Charles told her. "And please, call me Charles. We are family, after all."

Mary couldn't help but hug him. Charles was surprised at first, but then wrapped his arms around her. All Mary had ever wanted was to be brought back into her family. To hear someone say that made her overjoyed.

"Thank you, Charles," she told him. "I ask that you simply call me Mary, as you call my sister Amelia or my sister Elizabeth."

The two children came running back into the room, and looked at Mary expectantly. Mary and Charles shared a look, before Mary shouted that Charles was after them, and the three started to run away from Charles, who started chasing them around the house.

They continued to play their games for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally stopping by Amelia to tell her stories of the adventures that they had.

After supper, Mary and Amelia put John and Elizabeth to bed. Mary was happy to chat with her sister and Charles, and pleased to hear of Henry's marriage to Jane, telling the pair that she would gladly accept Jane as the King's lawfully wedded wife. Eventually, Mary grew tired, exhausted after her long day of chasing John and Elizabeth, and bid the couple good night.

Amelia and Charles retired to their own chambers shortly after. As they settled into their bed, Charles pulled Amelia to his chest and wrapped his arm just above his stomach, running his free hand through her hair. He felt her nestle into his chest as she began to fall asleep. He smiled in the darkness. Charles was glad to be home, and happy that his little family had grown, and the halls of Westhorpe were alive again.


	20. Civil Unrest II

**A/N: This has been my study break project for about a week. Go finals!**

* * *

20 June 1536

Sometimes, Amelia got annoyed with her father. Sometimes, he reminded her of Christian, who had an inability to make up his mind, which caused him to lose his throne. Charles had not been home for long before the King had recalled him to court, then sent back home, then recalled.

One of the days her husband had been at court, she had received a letter from Mr. Secretary Cromwell informing her that Sir Francis Bryant would soon be coming to Westhorpe to speak with the Lady Mary about the Act of Supremacy.

Amelia had heard tales of Sir Francis Bryant at court. He was the son of Lady Bryant, and a notorious womanizer. They say he kept many mistresses, married or unmarried, and that if you looked him in the eye, he would not hesitate to take one of yours. It made Amelia nervous.

She knew that she was soon to have her child, and her sister had attempted to confine her to her bed, but it was too warm and beautiful outside, even with Charles not around. She was outside her home when Sir Francis arrived, watching Elizabeth and John as they played tag in the front yard.

The two children stopped when they saw him. He had a pleasant expression on his face, but the black eyepatch that covered his left eye made his smile seem predatory. John and Elizabeth ran over to Amelia and huddled behind her, both children clutching Amelia's skirts as they peeked out from behind her.

"My lady Amelia," Sir Francis greeted as he approached, bowing his head in respect.

"Sir Francis," Amelia replied, bowing her head as well. She looked at the children behind her on either side. "Run along now, you two. Go find William in the kitchen and ask him to tell you a story."

"You have guardianship of the Lady Elizabeth?" Sir Francis asked, a mixture of surprise and amusement in his voice. He had not been informed of this when he returned to court.

Amelia nodded. "The King has decreed both of us to be bastards. He does not want her anymore, and I believe that no one should feel unwanted," she replied. "Besides, us bastard daughters need to stick together."

Sir Francis laughed. "It makes sense, I suppose. They told me at court that you were the daughter with the heart of gold," he said. "But I do believe you know why I'm here."

"Of course. I shall send for Mary immediately," Amelia said, gesturing for Sir Francis to follow her into the house.

He followed Amelia, making note of the portraits and tapestries that decorated the walls. "Forgive me for asking, my lady, but should you not be in confinement?" Sir Francis asked after passing a portrait of what he assumed to be the Duke of Suffolk's parents.

"I should be, Sir Francis, but there is too much to be done and not enough hands," she responded with a smile.

They entered the private study in the back of the house, where Mary reading _The Prince_ by Niccolò Machiavelli. She closed the book the moment Sir Francis and Amelia entered the room.

"This is Sir Francis Bryan, sister," Amelia said.

Mary rose and curtsied as Sir Francis removed his hat as he bowed.

"Lady Mary," Sir Francis greeted.

"I am very glad you have come to see me," Mary said. "I have written a letter congratulating the King on his marriage and begging leave to wait upon Queen Jane, or do Her Grace such service as would please her to command me." She turned towards her sister. "Even though it would pain me to leave my dear sister, I still must ask."

Amelia nodded in understanding.

"I am afraid, Lady Mary, I have not come here to discuss pleasantries," Sir Francis replied. "His Majesty urges you to sign this."

"What is it?" Mary asked, taking the parchment in her hand. There was a hint of suspicious in her voice as she looked between the menacing older man and her younger sister.

"A list of articles, recognizing the King as Head of the Church and your mother's marriage as incestuous and unlawful," Sir Francis responded. "You must also renounce Rome and freely acknowledge your illegitimacy, just as your sister has done."

Mary's eyes got wider and wider with each of his statements, and her eyebrows grew closer and closer to her hairline. "Is this true?" Mary whispered. She could not believe that her own sister had done something like this. She knew that Amelia had somehow stayed in their father's favor since her return, but she did not realize that it was because Amelia had doomed her immortal soul.

Amelia looked at her sister, a sad expression on her face. "I did, sister," she said with a nod.

"If you will not sign," Sir Francis continued, drawing back Mary's attention, "I'm afraid Mr. Secretary Cromwell cannot guarantee your safety."

Mary turned away from Sir Francis and Amelia, refusing to let the pair see the tears that were beginning to

Mary turned away from Sir Francis and Amelia, refusing to let the pair see the tears that were beginning to prick the corners of her eyes. "However much I love my father, Your Grace,and would do anything to please and satisfy him, I still cannot risk my immortal soul for the favor of an earthly King," she said quietly, the weight of the betrayal of her sister and father heavy on her heart.

"You are an unfilial daughter," Sir Francis responded, his voice low and dangerous. This caused Mary to turn and look at him. "Since you will not submit to your father," he said, taking a few steps closer to her, "he may yet proceed against you for treason."

Amelia's eyes widened. She didn't think that her father would go as far as do something like that. She felt her baby kick strongly, and placed a hand on her stomach. Her baby must have disagreed with the gentleman's statements as well.

"No," Mary said, trying more to convince herself instead of the man in front of her. "No, he would not. I cannot believe it!"

"Listen to me," Sir Francis continued. "I tell you, if you were my daughter, I would smash your head against the wall until it was as soft as a boiled apple." He paused. "You understand?"

Mary had turned away from Sir Francis and her sister once again, refusing to look at the man who had just threatened her.

"Lady Mary," Sir Francis said with a bow. He turned to look at Amelia, who now had both hands resting on her stomach. "Lady Amelia," he said, with another bow.

The menacing man left the room, leaving the two sisters standing there shocked. "Mary," Amelia said softly, taking a few steps towards her and placing her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Mary, please say something."

Mary shrugged violently out of her sister's touch and turned to face her, angry tears falling from her eyes. "I cannot believe that you would betray our mother like that!" Mary cried out. "You willingly said that our mother's marriage to our father was unlawful! How could you do something like that?"

"I was confused!" Amelia responded. "When I arrived, I thought our mother had died! Only then was I told of the annulment. But I was alone, and confused. I wanted to stay in the King's favor because I did not know what would happen to me if I did not." She paused, her voice getting quieter. "I wasn't like you, Mary. I was sent away for years. It was as if I was meeting a stranger, not reuniting with my father."

"You should have done the right thing," Mary said quietly, shaking her head slightly. She walked out of the room, purposefully hitting Amelia with her shoulder as she went.

Amelia was left alone in the study. The weight of what had just happened hit her suddenly, and she sank into one of the chairs by the fire. She did not want her sister to hate her at all. She thought that if she had accepted the articles, then maybe Mary would accept them as well.

When Charles was finally released from court and allowed to go home, he returned to a quiet house just as dusk was settling on the horizon. He had never come home to a house this quiet since Mary and Elizabeth had come to live with them. Charles found Mary in the front parlor, reading her book, an angry look on her face as she turned the pages. She looked up when he entered, her expression unchanged, before turning her attention back to the pages.

John and Elizabeth were sitting quietly as well, listening as William told them stories as he prepared supper.

His wife was in the back study, slumped in a chair, fast asleep. There were trails of tears down her cheeks, which tugged at his heart painfully. He knelt down beside Amelia and took one of her hands in one of his as he gently shook her shoulder. "Amelia?" he asked softly.

She stirred and woke. "My sister hates me, Charles," was all she whispered before fresh tears fell from her eyes and she buried her head in her husband's shoulder.

He could only hold her as she cried.


	21. Civil Unrest III

**A/N: This note is to remind you of the ages of the characters, since there was recently a marriage and there is soon to be a birth. Amelia is 19, Mary is 20, and Elizabeth is 2 (almost 3). Charles is 52 and John is 2. King Henry is 45 and Jane Seymour is likely 28 (her exact birthday and birthyear is unknown and is estimated by the number of mourners at her funeral).**

 **Also, I don't think that I've thanked you all for the reviews. I love all of you. Even if you don't review, I still love you for reading this far, and hopefully continuing to follow Amelia through her life.**

* * *

22 June 1536

It was Charles who had suggested to Ambassador Chapuys visit Mary and convince her to sign the articles. Amelia welcomed the idea. She remembered how fondly Mary had spoken of the man, and how fondly he had spoken of Mary.

When Eustace arrived, Amelia greeted him with great happiness, but sadness quickly overtook the joy. Mary had not spoken to her since Sir Francis's visit, and had even refused to look her in the eye. "My sister hates me," she told Eustace. "Please, Your Excellency. She must swear the oath, but she will not listen to me. I made a Protestation Apart when I realized what I had done. Charles was my witness. Mary wouldn't listen to me tell her what I had done."

Eustace nodded. "I understand that the Lady Mary would not be pleased with anyone who has done something with which she disagrees," he responded. "Give me some time to speak with her and see what she is thinking about."

Amelia smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Your Excellency," she said. "I believe my sister is in the back study. I'll have Elizabeth and John show you where it is."

Elizabeth and John were excited to see a new person, and nodded eagerly when Amelia asked them to bring Eustace to Mary. Amelia decided that it perhaps would be best if she let Mary and Eustace speak in peace rather than be with them. Elizabeth and John were growing fast, and they were in desperate need of new clothes to wear. She was working on a green dress for Elizabeth, a dark emerald color that would offset the girl's fiery red hair.

She hoped that Eustace would convince Mary to sign the articles. Amelia would hate to lose her sister.

* * *

Mary felt awful inside. First, she had signed the articles. It felt as though she was signing her soul over to the devil, but the devil was her own father. Of course her mother's marriage to him had been legitimate, and she should be first in line for the throne until the king had a son. But she also felt awful because she had not listened to her younger sister, and dismissed her when she tried to explain.

She found Amelia fast asleep in a chair by the fire in her chambers, the dress she was working on for Elizabeth in one hand and her needle in the other. It was obvious that Amelia cared deeply about all of the people that were in her family, Mary could see now.

Mary gently shook her sister's shoulder. "Amelia?" she whispered. "Amelia, please wake up. This chair isn't very comfortable for sleeping."

Amelia smiled as she opened her eyes. "Hello, sister," she said, stretching out her arms. "You're right about that."

"I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you, Amelia," Mary apologized. "I'm not used to having people look out for my best interests. Ambassador Chapuys told me that you made a Protestation Apart, and I would very much like to make one myself. I hope you can forgive me."

Amelia nodded. "I understand. I never really knew what it was like to be cared for either, and I don't want anyone else to feel the same way if I can help it," she said. "I can ask Charles to help you with the Apart if you would like." Her expression changed from one of happiness to one of shock.

"What is it?" Mary asked, concern etching into her voice.

"Would you mind terribly fetching the midwife and sending word to my husband?" Amelia asked her. "I do believe that I am about to give birth."

* * *

Charles had been in the middle of a meeting (with the King, he might add) when the messenger burst into the room and informed him that his wife was going into labor. The herald had run in shortly after, his face red with embarrassment as apologizes streamed out of his mouth. The King simply raised his hand and dismissed them both, before giving Charles a nod and signaling for him to leave.

Charles rode quickly as the sun was beginning to set and dusk was settling in. He arrived in Westhorpe shortly before darkness completely engulfed the world. He was greeted by Mary, who embraced him.

"Is something wrong?" Charles asked her. His mind instantly went to the worst. Had the baby not survived? Had Amelia not survived?

Mary shook her head. "No, not at all," she responded. "Amelia just helped me see today that I take those who care for me for granted. I believe that you care for me, so I just wanted to thank you. Amelia has been in labor for hours, but the midwife believes that the baby is near. You came just in time."

Charles sighed with relief. "And John and Elizabeth are okay?" he questioned.

"They are getting ready for bed," Mary replied. "I have been reading to them all day."

One of the maids who had been brought by the midwife to assist suddenly appeared, a wide smile on her face. "Your Grace, you have returned just in time!" she exclaimed with a curtsy. "The Duchess is ready for you to meet your new babe."

The maids and the midwife bowed their heads respectively as Charles and Mary rushed into the room. Amelia sat in the middle of the bed, an exhausted expression on her face despite the smile that crossed it. The baby in her arms was no longer crying, having settled down while the maids were changing the sheets.

"Charles, Mary," Amelia whispered when she saw her husband and her sister.

In an instant, Charles was kneeling beside the bed, one of his hands reaching towards his child. The babe was so tiny, with a tuft of dark hair. A smile broke across Charles's face. After everything that had happened at court and the murder of their last child, it was refreshing to see something so tiny and innocent.

"It's a boy," Amelia whispered. "We have a second son. I don't think Elizabeth will be too happy."

Charles turned his head to look at his wife, a shocked expression on his face. It quickly gave way to laughter until he kissed Amelia deeply.

Mary smiled as she looked at her sister and her brother-in-law. At first, she had been bothered that Amelia had been married before her, and that the man she married was so much older. Of course, it could be worse. Her aunt Mary had been married to the former King of France, and the difference in age between those two had been much larger. But it was clear to Mary that Amelia and Charles genuinely loved and cared for each other, as a husband and wife should, but often didn't. She hoped that someday, she would find a love like that.

She signaled for the maids to follow her in leaving the room. Mary could meet her new nephew tomorrow morning. She took one last glance at the happy family before shutting the chamber door. Someday, she thought, that would be her.


	22. Civil Unrest IV

**A/N: Procrastinating finals? Me? Naturally.**

* * *

6 July 1536

Henry was looking forward to seeing his daughters. He missed Amelia dearly, of course. Things had felt different at court since her departure. She had brought him joy and laughter, and now he only felt stress. Since she had recently had a child, Henry had granted her request of having Charles stay in at Westhorpe for just a little longer. Cromwell had to be given titles without Charles present. This vexed the King, but he did it for his daughter.

He was anxious to see Mary. The last time he had seen her was when he had gone to visit his Elizabeth after she was born. In truth, he felt a little guilty for not saying anything to her when he was there, or visiting her one of the numerous times she had fallen ill to the point where a physician needed to be called in.

Jane was excited to meet Mary as well. Her father didn't necessarily approve of her favoring Mary, but Jane still believed that Catherine had been a true Queen, and that Mary and Amelia were true daughters. She hadn't seen Amelia since before Anne had been executed, and looked forward to meeting her newborn child.

Amelia, meanwhile, was directing the household with a panic. Her father was coming to Westhorpe, and he had requested that he not see Elizabeth, but he wanted to see John. Elizabeth and John were hard to separate. They were partners in crime almost all the time. Eventually, she had bribed Elizabeth to sit quietly in the kitchen with William and promised that she would be able to help the older man make supper. John, who was completely uninterested in learning anything about cooking, was more than happy to follow his mother and his brother around the house.

Eventually, she gave up on having her home look as amazing as she wanted it to. Amelia went to the study were she and Mary were supposed to meet the king and sat down with a sigh, rocking her younger son gently.

"Would you like me to hold him for a little while?" Mary asked Amelia, appearing suddenly beside her sister.

Amelia nodded graciously and passed her son into Mary's arms. "He's much heavier than he looks," she said, exhausted.

Queen Jane entered the room at that moment, and Amelia rose to curtsy alongside her sister.

Jane smiled. "Lady Amelia, it is so nice to see you again," she said as Mary passed Amelia's son back to her. Jane beckoned Mary forward. "Lady Mary, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. I have only heard good things about you, and I hope to hear more. I do have a gift for you." The Queen gestured to one of the ladies behind her, who brought fourth a red velvet pouch for Mary.

"Your Majesty is too kind," Mary gasped, gazing at the beautiful brooch that the Queen had given her.

"Mary, gifts like these are easy compared with gifts of the heart," the Queen stated softly, grasping Mary's hands in hers. "It gives me more pleasure than I can say to see you reconciled with your father."

Mary noticed at that moment that her father had appeared in the doorway, and she fell to the floor in a deep curtsey after mentally pinching herself and ensuring that she wasn't hallucinating.

The King walked forward quickly, but slowed his pace as he approached Mary. She looked almost the same as she had the last time that he saw her. He noticed Amelia in the background holding a baby, but his focus for the moment was on Mary.

When she didn't rise as the rest had, he spoke softly. "Mary?" he asked.

"Your Majesty," she responded, still not meeting his gaze.

His hand went to her chin and tilted her head up gently, following it as as she rose. A look of bewilderment crossed his face. Was she afraid of him? He didn't want her to, not anymore at least. She was a beautiful and regal as he remembered, but seemed to have a spark of life in her eyes that he had missed the last time they had seen each other. Perhaps the decision to send her to live with Amelia was one of the best he could have made for her.

He pulled her aside, unsure of what he should say to her. "Here's a note for a thousand crowns," he eventually said, handing her the note. "If you need anything else, you need only ask.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Mary said, relieve evident in her voice.

Henry smiled broadly and took Mary's face in his hands. "Father," he replied, similarly to what he had told Amelia when she first arrived.

A tear of happiness fell from Mary's cheek. "Yes, father," she responded.

Henry pressed his forehead against Mary's, and then gave her forehead a kiss. He heard Amelia cough in the background, and smiled before pulling Mary into a warm embrace. Mary was shocked to say the least, but the gesture was comforting to her as she returned it.

Eventually, they broke, and Jane went to her husband's side as the three turned to face Amelia.

"Your Majesties, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to your grandson, Owen Brandon," Amelia announced proudly, rising from the seat she had taken a second time.

Jane smiled congratulatory, and took the child from Amelia, marveling at how small the boy was and how his now-opened eyes looked just like Charles's eyes. Henry smiled as well. He could tell that the boy would grow up to be strong, and was already thinking of what titles could be bestowed upon him, since John was going to inherit Charles's title after his death.

The older boy, John, was excited to see his grandfather, and Henry swept him up in his arms with a laugh. "Do you like your brother, John?" Henry asked.

John nodded. "He cries a lot, but mother likes him, so I do too," John told him.

"All children cry when they are young," Henry responded, placing John on the ground so he could meet Jane. Jane passed Owen to Henry, and he marveled at the baby boy as well.

A feeling of jealousy niggled its way into his mind. Charles now had two sons to inherit his land, while Henry still had none. He hoped that Jane would have a child soon, a son to inherit his kingdom, or else he might just leave his crown to John instead.


	23. Civil Unrest V

**A/N: The Lincolnshire rising began on 2 October 1536 and effectively ended on 4 October 1536 when the Duke of Suffolk offered men the chance to return home without a fight. The number of men who chose not to turn home was relatively small. Chances are, those who remained lost their lives, but the uprising taking place in Yorkshire (The Pilgrimage of Grace) was far larger and needed to be dealt with first. Robert Aske was also only about 35 or 36 at this time and unmarried.**

* * *

3 October 1536

Life had been comfortable for the last few months. Owen seemed to be growing quickly. The little baby boy was a happy child with an easy temperament. John and Elizabeth had played outside frequently. The Hastings family had even come to visit a few times. Elizabeth had gotten along well with Frances, and the three young children had played all day under the warm summer sun while Amelia, Catherine, Mary, and Francis had conversed in the shade. It had been one of the times that Charles was at court.

Charles was at court more and more frequently, it seemed. Amelia knew that it meant something.

Her suspicions were confirmed one morning. Since autumn was beginning to settle in, Amelia and Mary were working on some new clothes for the children, getting them ready for the cold winter that Amelia was sure would settle in any day now. Mary and Amelia's relationship had improved drastically since their father's visit, and now they both prayed that Elizabeth would one day return to their father's favor, just as they did.

On that mid-September day, Amelia watched in horror as men burst into her home, led by Charles, dressed as if they were going to war. She could feel her jaw drop to the floor, and watch as Mary's jaw followed. John and Elizabeth scrambled behind Amelia's chair, and Owen began to wail in his crib. Amelia put her sewing down and went to cradle her son, rocking him gently and shushing him.

He stopped crying long after all the men had disappeared, a peaceful expression eventually taking over his face as he fell back asleep.

"What's going on?" Mary whispered. They could hear the voices of the men down the hall heatedly discussing something.

Amelia shook her head slowly. "I have no idea," she responded. She looked at her sister, and then at the baby in her arms, before putting Owen back in his crib and storming down the hall.

Charles and the other men stood around the table in the room, looking down at parchment and drawing their fingers across it.

"Charles, what's going on?" Amelia asked as she burst into the room, a mixture of anger and concern in her voice.

He looked at the men on either side of him. "Leave us," he told them, standing up straight as his wife walked towards him. "His Majesty has charged me with leading his army against the northern rebels," he told her. Amelia could feel her anger fade away as tears began to form in her eyes. "You are not to worry," Charles continued, his tone softening. "I will have at my back enough men and arms to subdue them easily. I have His Majesty's promise."

"I hope to God he keeps it," Amelia responded in a tone equally as soft. "I wouldn't want our sons to grow up without a father."

Charles smiled. "I am happy to accept this charge," he said. "Cromwell is being blamed for everything, and the rebels are demanding his head, not mine. With God's help, I may well be able to deliver it."

Amelia was silent for a moment. "With God's help, Cromwell's head is the only one they want," she finally said. "For all of our sakes, I only hope that the King and the rebels will reach a peaceful resolve. When are you to leave?"

"This afternoon," Charles told her, a look of deep regret on his face. "I am so sorry, Amelia," he said when he saw Amelia's face fell. "I should have written to you sooner and told you as soon as I found out."

"It is alright," Amelia replied softly, reaching up to hold Charles's face in her hands. "I understand. The King makes his decisions quickly, and we must all learn to adapt."

Charles simply sighed and wrapped his arms around his wife, who returned the gesture. Her head rested against his chest, and she listened to his heart beat strong and steady. It was one thing to have Charles go to court for a day or two, but another entirely for him to go off to fight some unknown enemy.

That, she realized, terrified her.


	24. The Northern Uprising

**A/N: Wow it's been a while. I think it's easier to write when I'm at school and procrastinating than when I'm at home with all the time in the world.**

 **A History Lesson: The leaders of King Henry's forces against the rebels were Thomas Howard, 3** **rd** **Duke of Norfolk, and George Talbot, 4** **th** **Earl of Shrewsbury. Norfolk was the one who issued a general pardon and promised a parliament and an end to the destruction of abbeys until parliament met. Henry did not authorize Norfolk to do this.**

* * *

8 October 1536

"The Queen has summoned me to court to surprise father!" Mary burst out one morning. While Amelia was feeding Owen, Mary had gone to greet the messenger who had come. She returned with the largest smile on her face, bouncing excitedly as if she were a child.

"I take it you are excited to return to court?" Amelia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mary seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped, standing up straight and smoothing out her skirts. "I am very glad for Her Majesty's generosity and kindness, and for thinking of me to surprise our father," Mary said, her expression a diplomatic mask of indifference.

"We then must thank Her Majesty for her kindness and generosity," Amelia replied, her expression and tone mirroring Mary's.

There was a brief pause in their conversation before both girls burst out laughing, after which they agreed upon a brooch that they could present to Her Majesty to express their gratitude.

Since Mary had come to live with Amelia at Westhorpe, she had overall become happier. Although their was the nagging guilt in the back of her mind over signing the articles and damning her immortal soul, Mary had realized that she was able to express her emotions freely around Amelia, and that Amelia didn't care. It had taken her longer to feel the same way around Charles, but she had seen that Charles and Amelia considered her to be family, a different type of family than what Mary was used to. They were always smiling and laughing, almost never serious.

Even when Mary had been angry with Amelia and shut her out, Amelia didn't send her away. Instead, she had helped her to be reunited with her father.

In truth, Mary was excited to return to court. It meant there was a possibility that her father might legitimize her again, or find her someone to marry. But her happiness over her return could not overpower the sadness that she felt over leaving her sisters and nephews behind. Even Elizabeth, whom she had originally despised because of her mother, was able to bring a smile to Mary's face.

She packed her her things with mixed emotions.

* * *

25 October 1536

Owen's shrill cries woke Amelia from the heavy sleep she had fallen into. Sighing heavily, she lit the candle that she kept by the side of her bed and headed out to Owen's chamber.

She was surprised to see her husband was sitting in the room, the tiny infant in his arms almost completely calmed down.

"You're home!" Amelia exclaimed quietly. She set her candle down and sat next to her husband.

He smiled at her. "I told you that I would have enough men to help me return safely," he whispered. "The rebels at Lincolnshire dispersed peacefully, and the rebels who gathered near York have dispersed with the promise that there will be peaceful negotiations, which I will be leading."

"My father is very gracious to offer peace to the people of the north, and I'm very thankful that you will be the one to negotiate it." Amelia paused. "The fighting worries me. I don't want to see anyone die in this skirmish. There has to be some way for this conflict to have a peaceful resolution, and I only hope my father sees this."

Charles stood and placed Owen gently back into his crib before kneeling in front of his wife. "We must trust that His Majesty will make the best decision for the good of the country," he responded quietly.

The couple both rose to their feet and paused for a moment on their way out of the room to look at their youngest son, now sleeping peacefully. "Do you think he knows what an amazing father he has?" Amelia asked with a smile on her face, tilting her head slightly to look at her husband.

Charles returned her smile and gaze. "Of course. He has an amazing mother to always remind him."

* * *

13 December 1536

It was a few weeks before Charles had left to deal with the rebels, and a few weeks before he had returned. Winter was settling in around the country, and Amelia enjoyed the few flakes that occasionally fell from the sky. Mary had written to Amelia and her family a few times. It was a big affair in Westhorpe when Mary's letters arrived, with John and Elizabeth hopping up and down excitedly, waiting for Amelia to read the letter to them.

The one that came home with Charles was different. John and Elizabeth were especially excited, and even Owen smiled when he realized his father was home. The family got even more excited when they read what Mary had written.

It looked like they would have Christmas at court this year.


	25. Dissension and Punishment I

**A/N: I don't speak French, so I used the internet as best I could. Please feel free to let me know if I made a mistake. I also know this chapter is short. I have an idea of how I want Amelia's life to go, and the chapters should be longer in the future.**

 **Tudor Christmas was celebrated with mass and a Christmas Day feast. It was followed by New Year's Day (January 1), Epiphany (January 6), and the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25), which was when the new year in Tudor times technically began. The Feast of the Annunciation celebrates Gabriel telling Mary she was pregnant.**

* * *

25 December 1536

Henry was joyous at Christmastide. Even though there were problems in the nation, like the fact his wife still had not produced an heir and there were still pockets of rebellion in the north, Christmas was the time that he could set those thoughts aside for one day and focus on the holiday.

Besides, he had his daughter Mary at his side. It truly was great to be reunited with his eldest daughter, and be able to welcome her back to court. The only thing missing now was his daughter Amelia.

The women on either side of him were looking at each other with smiles on their faces. He looked back and forth between them for a few moments before finally looking straight forward and asking "are you ladies conspiring something?"

"We would both like to present some others to Your Majesty at this Christmastide," Jane said to her husband, leaning forward slightly.

"Very well," Henry responded.

The first figure he saw was the Duke of Suffolk, the tallest of the small group making their way towards the throne. Amelia walked next to him, wearing a red dress and flowers in her hair just like Mary and Jane. The woman's gaze shifted between her father and the tiny baby that she held in her arms. John, his elder grandson, walked between his parents, holding his father's hand and clutching his mother's skirts, his big eyes darting all over the room, taking in all of the sights and sounds of the court around him.

"Your Majesties," Amelia and Charles said in unison, bowing.

Henry laughed. "I knew the three of you would conspire on something," he said. "Welcome back to court, Lady Amelia."

There was a flurry of activity as the family approached the King. Amelia handed Owen to Charles, who brought him to the King. The baby was much bigger than the last time that the King had seen him, and the tiny smile on his face melted the King's heart. The Queen lifted John up to sit in her lap, and from there, he excitedly told her about their entire trip to the palace. Amelia embraced her sister as if they had not seen each other in years, and listened as Mary filled her in on all of the court gossip.

Eventually, they settled down. Charles stood behind the King on his right side, Amelia on his left. Owen had made his way back into Amelia's arms, but John still sat on the Queen's lap.

"There is one more person we would like to present to you, Your Majesty," Mary said from the King's side.

The King simply nodded.

A hush fell over the court as a small, red-headed girl made her way through the mass of people. Like the women that surrounded Henry, she wore a red dress trimmed with gold, and a crown made of flowers. The girl curtsied politely once she had reached the King.

"Your Majesty," Amelia began from behind him. "This is-"

"My daughter Elizabeth," the King said, surprise in his voice. "You don't need to tell me."

Anyone with eyes could see that Elizabeth was nervous, although she tried to hide it. The King smiled slightly, and leaned forward. "Come here, child," he said, beckoning her forward.

She took a few steps forward, then stood still. "Votre Majesté. Ca va?" _Your Majesty. How are you?_

The King smiled. "Ca va bien, ma petite. Viens ici," he responded. _Things are going well, little one. Come here._

The King moved aside and made space for Elizabeth on his throne. Amelia smiled at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth smiled back. She approached the King with more confidence, and he lifted her onto his knee. It had been silly of him to say she was a bastard, that he was not her father. She had the Tudor hair, the vibrant red. There could be no denying their relation.

He turned to the court before him after he kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "Je suis en famille!" he proclaimed, sweeping his arm forward.

The court cheered and applauded.

Henry felt almost complete. He had all three of his daughters, his grandsons, his wife, and his most trusted advisor surrounding him. The only thing to make the picture perfect would be a son of his own.

But now, it was time to deal with the rebels. He would not be lenient.


	26. Dissension and Punishment II

**A/N: After Robert Aske dismissed his followers in December/January 1536/1537, there was a second uprising. This uprising was not authorized by Aske, who was widely considered to be the leader of the rebels. Instead, it was led by Sir Francis Bigod, who knew that the promises the King made would not be met. The Duke of Norfolk quickly squashed this insurrection and arrested several rebels, Bigod, Aske, and Lord Darcy. Bigod was later hanged at Tyburn.**

 **This is also another moment where the timeline gets weird. In the show, Queen Jane tells Lady Rochford that she is pregnant before the second uprising begins. However, history tells us that Jane's pregnancy was celebrated on Trinity Sunday in May of 1537. This story will take history's side and have Jane announce her pregnancy much later.**

 **The word "zounds" is used in this chapter. It was a pretty serious curse in medieval times, kind of like the f-word today.**

* * *

23 January 1537

A peaceful resolution. That was what Amelia had hoped for, and that was what she received. Her father had forgiven the northern rebels, and as far as she could tell, he was intent on keeping his promises.

With the dealings with the rebels hopefully over, Amelia could once again focus on being at court. It was wonderful to be back, to see all of the people that she hadn't seen in months.

The King had arranged for private apartments for Amelia and her family at all of his palaces, so she could once again travel with the court as it moved around without having to leave her family behind. Elizabeth was to live with them as well, since she was still rather young and not old enough to live on her own. Mary, on the other hand, had her own private quarters, with Elizabeth and John loved to visit.

One morning, Catherine and Frances came to visit. Elizabeth and John delighted in seeing their friend again, and the three raced off into one of the other rooms to play.

The two women sat by the fire, Amelia holding Owen and Catherine holding her son Henry, who had been born shortly before Owen had. It was nice to spend some time with someone else who had a young child, even if they were just catching up on gossip.

"Did you hear about Lady Ursula Misseldon?" Catherine asked, her eyes wide with anticipation, as if she was about to burst out some huge secret she shouldn't be sharing.

Amelia shook her head.

"Apparently, she's having an affair with someone powerful!" Catherine exclaimed. "She's engaged to Sir Robert Tavistock, you know, the one who complains about every little thing. He caught Lady Misseldon posing nude for a portrait by Master Holbein! When he took his complaint to the King, the King dismissed it because of Master Holbein's genius!"

Amelia tilted her head to the side. "How does that show her lover is powerful?"

"Because only people with lots of power and money can afford Master Holbein." Catherine gasped. "What if it's the King?"

"Please, I don't need to think about my father having a mistress," Amelia shuddered. "Besides, I have great love for Her Majesty, and would hate to think about my father doing anything to betray her."

"I'm sorry," Catherine apologized. "Sometimes I forget that you're His Majesty's daughter."

"It's true that I am His Majesty's daughter," Amelia responded, "but more importantly, I am the Duchess of Suffolk. I think that outranks the title of 'King's bastard daughter.'"

They were silent for a moment, before they began telling stories of their children and laughing at their antics. It wasn't long before the door opened and Charles came inside, a grim look on his face. Catherine and Amelia both recognized that look as one that spelled trouble, and Catherine quickly excused herself to the other room where the children were playing.

"I'm being sent north," were the first words that tumbled out of his mouth.

Amelia wasn't surprised. She knew that the King would send Charles north to set up the parliament.

"There will be no parliament," he continued, watching his wife's jaw drop. "Instead, I must administer an oath to the leaders and gentlemen at Yorkshire and Lancashire, and force them to acknowledge that they rebelled and follow all laws, even the ones they rebelled against. Anyone who won't is to be arrested and executed."

Amelia froze. "So the people of the north won't be able to air their grievences?" she asked slowly, still processing what Charles had told her.

He shook his head. "I only came to bid you farewell. I am supposed to leave rather soon," he whispered. Charles looked down at Owen, who was smiling in Amelia's arms. He placed a kiss on the baby's forehead before kissing his wife deeply and passionately.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I you," she whispered back.

He turned and left, leaving his wife standing by the fire, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. The King, no, her father had broken his word, and made her husband break his as well. All of the promises her father had made were nothing more than words. There were no actions behind them. How could one pretend to understand the cause of a rebellion, and then enforce a solution that went against almost all of the issues that were raised? Even though she was a woman, she could tell that negotiating, finding a peaceful resolution, would have been able to satisfy both parties.

She vowed never to break her word.

* * *

25 February 1567

Charles hadn't expected that the northern rebels would give him the resistance that they did. He was met with a large group preparing to march on a castle, a short battle, a multitude of arrests, and 74 men who refused to sign an oath.

He watched from the hill as many people, men and women alike, cried and wailed over the men who had been hanged. The women, he reminded himself were widows now. What would they do? If they had children, how would they support them? Many, he imagined, would be forced to remarry, or beg, or hope that their oldest child was old enough to be married, or in a place where they could provide support.

He hated executions because they reminded him of his own mortality.

Charles was aging, without a doubt. Most men wouldn't live to see his age. Amelia, on the other hand, was young. Very young. There was no doubt that he loved and adored her, more than any of his previous wives. Margaret, Anne, and Mary had all been wonderful women, but Amelia was far different. She was compassionate and kind, always seeking for peace instead of war. She was patient too, and forgiving. He didn't think that any of the women he had previously been married to would have forgiven him for his affair with that Frenchwoman.

Honestly, he couldn't even remember the woman's name. Amelia was who mattered most to him.

Charles knew that he wouldn't live forever, and that Amelia was likely to outlive him by many years. A small voice in the back of his head told him that he should have convinced the King to marry her to someone younger, someone that she could have grown old with.

It was then he realized how deep his love really ran. He wanted to see Amelia happy, even if it meant that she wasn't with him.

Into the evening, he was deep in thought.

* * *

8 March 1537

He hated watching Robert Aske say good-bye to his family as much as he hated lying to Robert Aske.

Mr. Aske used almost the same words Charles had to say good-bye to his family. Like Charles, he firmly believed what he said, only did not know the truth. It reminded Charles that as often as he promised to return, he never knew for sure if he would or not.

He gave the order to march on.

He was getting sick of all the lies.

* * *

5 April 1537

The journey had been long and arduous, but he had made it home. Home. It wasn't Westhorpe anymore, he realized, but wherever Amelia, John, and Owen were.

His conversation with Cromwell was much longer than he had anticipated. By the time he returned to the family's apartments, the sky was lit only by stars.

Amelia was asleep when he entered their chamber, but she woke when he closed the door. "Charles?" she asked sleepily, rubbing one of her eyes with her hand. "Is that you?"

"Yes," he responded.

Even in the darkness, he could see the smile that lit up her face. "Welcome home, my love," she said joyfully.

He said nothing more, but changed into his shift and sat down on his side of the bed, resting his head in his hands.

"Charles?" Amelia asked quietly. She sat up and moved over so she sat just behind him on the bed, one of her hands coming to rest on his shoulder. "Something's troubling you, I can tell. Unburden your heart, love," she whispered.

He raised his head. "If I do," he said, turning his head to meet his wife's eyes, "believe me, everything will change."

Amelia said nothing, but took one of Charles's hands in her own, locking their fingers together and rubbing circles on the back of his palm.

Charles turned away from her again. "I am commanded to return north to carry out retribution," he said. "I must execute more rebels, only this time without trial or proper process."

The circles stopped. "Many?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, many," he replied. "Many, hundreds, thousands. I must kill hundreds of men, women, and children, or lose the love of my king!"

"Women and children?" Amelia cried softly, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

"I have no choice," he whispered, meeting her eyes again, defeat evident in his voice.

"Of course you have a choice," Amelia said. "What if it was me? Or your own children?"

Charles turned away and was silent for a moment, and his answer was so faintly whispered, Amelia had to strain to hear it. "I would still have to do it."

Her hands released his, and he made no effort to grab them again. "I better go check on Owen," she said quietly.

He watched as she passed in front of the fire, the warm glow illuminating her body. He could see tears begin to fall from her eyes, and saw her hands rub her stomach, as if she were trying to calm it.

Her slightly swollen stomach.

He had just told his pregnant wife that he would kill her and their children if the King ordered it.

Zounds.


	27. The Death of a Queen I

**A/N: The historical Charles Brandon had four, almost five, wives. His first wife was Margaret Mortimer née Neville, whom he married in 1507. She was 18 years his senior, and the marriage was annulled the same year and declared void by papal bull on 12 May 1528.**

 **In 1508, he married Margaret's niece Anne Browne, by whom he had two daughters, Anne and Mary. She died in 1511.**

 **He was contracted to marry Elizabeth Grey around 1513 (she was only eight years old at the time), but the contract was later annulled.**

 **He married Mary Tudor, Queen Dowager of France, in May of 1515. She was nineteen years old, and he was about thirty. They had two daughters, Frances and Brandon, who survived to adulthood (Frances later became the mother of Jane Grey, who briefly was Queen), and two sons, both named Henry, who died young. She died in June of 1533.**

 **In September 1533, fourty-nine-year-old Charles married fourteen-year-old Catherine Willoughby. They had a happy marriage, which produced two sons, Henry and Charles, who both died on 14 July 1551 from the sweating sickness. Following Charles's death in 1545, Catherine married Richard Bertie.**

 **Charles also had a number of illegitimate children, including Sir Charles Brandon, Frances Brandon, and Mary Brandon.**

* * *

6 April 1537

Amelia had barely slept the previous night. "I would still have to do it." The words rang through her head the whole night. She hoped the day would never come, and if it did, Charles would change his mind. Amelia thought that Charles's return home would be joyous, since she would tell him that she was with child and they would be happy. Instead, he was being sent back north to indiscriminately slaughter people.

She reminded herself that the King always got what he wanted. He even changed the religion in the kingdom to divorce her mother! If Charles had refused, perhaps he would have lost his head. Either way, someone was going to be sent up north to kill the rebels.

Still, the idea that he would murder his wife and children at the King's order made her feel sick.

There was a letter sitting on the bed when she return to her chamber, which she looked at with great curiosity. Charles was nowhere to be found, which she had expected.

 _Dearest Amelia,_ the letter read.

 _I am deeply and truly sorry. I have been ordered to return to the north this morning. I was up all night thinking about what I had said, and I wish to take back that statement. If the King ordered me to kill my wife and children, we would run. Anywhere in the world, I'd run._

 _I was married three times before we were married. First to Margaret Mortimer, which was declared void. Then, to Anne Browne, until her death. Lastly, to Mary, the Queen Dowager of France. In the time I spent in the north, I reflected on my own life, and I realized that most of the happy times I can remember are with you and our children._

 _I love you, Amelia, more than I have loved anyone before. I can't bear the thought of losing you or John or Owen, or even Elizabeth, Mary, or our unborn child. You are my family, and I would sooner flee to a foreign country where I don't know the language or culture than kill you for the love of an earthly sovereign._

 _I don't ask for your blessing to do what I am ordered to do, but please, Amelia, don't send me with your curse._

 _With all the love I have to give,_

 _Charles_

Fresh tears fell from Amelia's eyes.

* * *

9 May 1537

He had missed her 20th birthday by a week. The party that he had taken north and returned with was much lighter than his previous trips, which made the journey much quicker. Still, it wasn't enough time to return for her birthday.

His heart felt like lead in his chest. Charles had secured the love of his sovereign and made a statement in the north that would prevent further rebellion. He should be happy. But what was the cost? Hundreds of innocent, good Christian people, slaughtered on his orders.

It was nighttime again when Charles returned to his home. Once again, he found Amelia sleeping peacefully. She only stirred when he entered, but didn't wake. Quietly, he changed into his shift and lay down next to her, keeping his back to her. He couldn't face his wife, not after looking at all of the bodies on the hill and imagining each child as John and each woman as Amelia. The sight had made him sick.

A few tears fell from his eyes as he thought about facing Amelia tomorrow. Had he lost her love? Would she be angry with him for what he had done?

An arm wrapped itself around his waist, and Charles could feel Amelia's warm breath against his cheek as she nestled her face into the crook of his neck.

"I would never send you away with my curse," she murmured sleepily.

He shed more tears.

* * *

27 May 1537

Trinity Sunday at St. Paul's Cathedral was even more grand than usual. A Te Deum was sung for the quickening of the Queen's child. She looked radiant, in her gold dress, a smile on her face that never dampened.

Charles was naturally called to attend, but had to go without his family. The children were too young to attend such a mass, and Amelia needed to stay with them. Instead, he escorted the Lady Mary to mass, happy to have a familiar figure in his company.

"How is my sister?" Mary asked him as they waited for mass to begin. "Since I don't live at court, I hardly see her."

"She is well," he responded. "Every day I think I fall more in love with her. She's helped me to make peace with myself."

Mary smiled. "That sounds like something only my sister could do," she said. "She helped me to make peace with myself as well, and I cannot thank her enough for it."

"You should pay her a visit," Charles whispered as a hush began to settle over the crowd. "She would love to have your company."

"Indeed," Mary whispered back. "I have great news to share with her."

* * *

30 May 1537

"Our father is looking to arrange a marriage for me!" Mary burst out upon seeing her sister.

Amelia's jaw dropped in surprise, but quickly morphed into a wide smile. "That is excellent news, Mary!" Amelia exclaimed, hugging her sister. "Does he have a candidate in mind?"

Mary nodded excitedly. "Don Luis, the heir to the throne of Portugal and brother-in-law of the Emperor himself!" she replied. "Ambassador Chapuys tells me that he is only a few years older than I am, and tall with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, and well-liked by all. Oh Amelia, I'm so happy."

Amelia clasped her sister's hands in her own. "With God's grace, you will soon be happily married," she told her sister.

"There is another thing," Mary said. "Her Majesty Queen Jane is trying to persuade our father to restore us and Elizabeth to the line of succession!"

"Really?" Amelia asked. She could hardly believe it. If Jane had a daughter, would she be behind Mary, Amelia, and Elizabeth in the line of succession? If she had a son, as the King believed she would, then he would be far more inclined to restore his three daughters. But if Jane had a daughter, then God help them all...

"Then we must pray for the safe delivery of a son to Her Majesty," Amelia told her sister.

Mary nodded in agreement, and they bowed their heads.

* * *

19 September 1537

Eleanor. They had decided to name her Eleanor Brandon, after Charles's youngest aunt.

Eleanor had decided to enter the world early one September morning, much to the surprise of both of her parents, who had been sleeping relatively peacefully. The anticipation of a new baby sparked chaos in the palace. Both the King and Queen had been awoken to hear the news, and the Queen had sent Lady Rochford and Lady Misseldon to help Amelia in any way they needed to.

Mary had been awoken, and quickly brought to her sister's apartments, where she had stayed with Elizabeth, John, and Owen while Amelia was in labor.

After many long hours, Eleanor entered the world. It was Charles and Amelia's first daughter, and Henry's first granddaughter.

Charles had looked like a fish out of water when he had first seen the tiny baby. Amelia had smiled at him as she passed him the baby. He felt as though he was going to drop her. She looked so tiny, so precious.

"Eleanor." The name left his lips before he could stop it. Eleanor was the name of one of his aunts who had died a few years before he himself was born. His father William had always spoken fondly of her, which had imprinted the woman that he never knew into his memory.

"It's beautiful," Amelia said. "Eleanor Brandon. I think it will suit her perfectly."

Amelia could tell that Eleanor already had Charles wrapped around her finger.


	28. The Death of a Queen II

**A/N: The future King Edward VI was born on 12 October 1537. He became king when he was nine years old, and ruled until his death in 1553. Since he never reached the age of majority, the kingdom was governed by a Regency Council, first led by Edward Seymour, his uncle, and then by John Dudley. Edward was the first Protestant monarch of England, which changed the religion of England further. He was the last male monarch of the Tudor Dynasty. He was briefly succeeded by Lady Jane Grey, the granddaughter of Charles Brandon and Mary Tudor and first cousin once removed of Edward. She was the daughter-in-law of John Dudley. She was the disputed Queen of England, France, and Ireland. She was Queen for nine days before Mary was crowned.**

* * *

9 October 1537

Eleanor was a beautiful baby. Elizabeth had jumped around excitedly when she learned that Amelia had given birth to a girl. She had rattled off all of the things that she was going to do with Eleanor once she got old enough, like teaching her to stitch or read French, or play with dolls. John had looked up at his mother with a wide grin on his face and told her that Eleanor was tiny.

Amelia had finally given in and hired a nurse to help her with all of the children she had. Clemence was an older widow, with five grown children that were off and living their own lives.

On that cool October morning, Amelia held her daughter and gently rocked her back and forth. There was only silence in the apartment. Charles had gone to attend to the King, and Clemence had taken the younger children out to the gardens to see the leaves changing colors.

Amelia sighed as she looked down at Eleanor. "I'm worried about your father," she whispered. "Two days ago, when we were walking, he suddenly stopped and looked straight down the hallway and asked if I saw a man."

Eleanor only looked up with her bright blue eyes.

"The only problem was that there was no man," Amelia continued, rising from her seat and pacing with Eleanor still in her arms. "He insisted that one was standing there, staring at him, with sunken eyes and a pale face, and a large gash across his neck. But there was no man there."

She paused to hear if there was anyone coming. When she was met with only silence, she continued. "Sometimes at night, he'll cry out in his sleep, as if something pains him. Sometimes he cries out our names. He wakes up with a start, drenched in sweat, and gets up to splash water on his face. I pretend to be asleep the whole time so he doesn't feel guilty for waking me, but he always pulls me close when he gets back to bed."

It felt amazing to finally tell someone what she had been noticing for months, even if it was a baby who couldn't give her any real advice to help her out.

The sound of feet stomping outside the chamber indicated that her children and Elizabeth had returned home. Amelia went to go join them, and was met with two children dancing around the room and one trying his best to crawl after them.

"The Queen has gone into labor, my lady, and asks that you go to her as quickly as possible," Clemence told her quickly. "The Lady Mary is already there."

"Thank you, Clemence," Amelia said. "I'm sorry to leave you with all four, but Charles should return shortly. If you need help, I'll send word to Lady Huntingdon. Everyone is well-behaved when she and her children are around."

With a quick good-bye to her children, Amelia hurried off to the Queen's chambers.

* * *

"Breathe deeply, Your Majesty," Amelia said softly, grasping the Queen's hand.

"Lady Mary," Jane said between breaths. "The box."

She looked at the small box that rested on the table near the fire, which Mary quickly grabbed. Inside was a gorgeous crucifix. Amelia released the Queen's hand and allowed her sister to help the Queen wrap her fingers around the gold chain.

"It used to belong to your mother," Jane whispered, looking between the two sisters.

Amelia and Mary shared a look of surprise. "I think she is here with us," Mary told the Queen.

Amelia nodded as the Queen kissed the cross. "I believe with all my heart that she will help you," she agreed.

The labor seemed to last for hours.

In reality, Amelia would find that it was hours, but many more than she had anticipated.

It was in fact, the 12th day of October when the baby boy was finally born. All Amelia could feel was relief. Her father finally had the son he desired, and the Queen's long labor was finally over. She suddenly felt very tired, and had to sit as soon as she stood.

"Are you alright, my lady?" someone asked her.

Amelia nodded, and rose again. "I'm fine," she said.

She made it to the Queen's sitting room before she felt faint again, and her knees buckled.

"My Lady Suffolk!" a voice cried out. Amelia fell back and hit the speaker's chest. The man, whomever he was, helped to settle her on her feet again. "Are you sure that you're alright, my lady?"

"I am simply tired is all," Amelia replied, failing to suppress the yawn that came from her mouth.

"Please, allow me to escort you back to your chambers to rest, my lady," he said. "I would never be forgiven if you were to collapse in the hallway."

It was a fair point, and Amelia agreed. The man, who wore the uniform of one of the King's grooms, allowed her to lean heavily against him, and didn't complain once their whole walk back.

Charles opened the door when the man knocked. "Amelia!" Charles exclaimed. He looked to the man supporting her for an explanation as to why she was almost sleeping standing up.

"The Lady Suffolk was at Her Majesty's side the whole time, Your Grace," the man told him as Charles picked his wife up off her feet and cradled her to his chest.

"What is your name?" Charles asked.

"Avery, Your Grace," he responded.

"Thank you, Avery," Charles said. "His Majesty will hear of how kindly you treated his daughter."

Out of the corner of her slowly closing eyes, Amelia could see Avery bow before turning on his heal and leaving.

"Eleanor?" she mumbled.

"Clemence did a good job taking care of her," Charles responded.

It was the last thing she heard before sleep finally took her.

* * *

15 October 1537

Since Amelia had recently had a child, she wasn't allowed to go to church, even to see her own brother's baptism. Charles was there, standing next to the King. Mary was named Edward's godmother, and both Elizabeth and John carried the chrisom.

Everything was perfect.

* * *

24 October 1537

Queen Jane of England had died. The kind woman who had been beloved by anyone she met had been called to heaven, leaving her husband and son behind.

Amelia's heart hurt at the thought that Edward would not be raised by his own mother.

Her father had called her that evening. In Amelia's opinion, her father looked defeated. She stood in front of him for a long time as he simply stared past her, his chin resting on his hand.

"You are to raise my son Edward, your brother, and make him a credit to his mother in every way," he finally said. "He is the heir to my throne, my only son. You are the only one that I can trust with him."

"Why me, father?" Amelia asked after she absorbed the information.

"I cannot trust Mistress Pole, for her own son has turned against me," Henry said. "Lady Bryan, Elizabeth's former governess… I believe you've met her son Sir Francis." He finally looked her dead in the eyes. "You are my own blood, my own daughter. I can think of no better person to teach my son what is means to be a Tudor."

"Thank you, father," Amelia said.

"You are also to return to Westhorpe as soon as you possibly can," Henry told her. "I fear there is great change coming, and I would rather have my only son far away from court until he is older. Mary and Elizabeth will return with you, naturally."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The King dismissed his daughter with a wave of his hand, and she bowed her head and left.

She vowed to keep Jane's memory so green, that it would be as if her brother had known her.


	29. Search for a New Queen I

**A/N: In history, Charles Brandon was appointed Lord President of the Council in 1530, which was a new office. In the show, he is not given this office until about 1538. In this story, he has held the office since 1530, which explains his frequent absences.**

 **The show has Henry going into seclusion after Jane's death, but doesn't give any indication as to how long, so I'm guessing that it was at least a few months before he began to think about marriage. The portrait of Christina, Duchess of Milan, was painted in March of 1538. Negotiations for a marriage between Henry and Anne of Cleves did not begin until March of 1539.**

 **I do not speak Danish, but Google Translate does, so I'm sorry for any errors. The letters are written this way to show how cautious Amelia is. After all, intercepted letters seem to be the downfall of many.**

* * *

January 1538

Even though a certain darkness had seemed to settle around the kingdom since the King had gone into seclusion, life at Westhrope did not slow down. With both Mary and Clemence around the house, taking care of the five young children was not as hectic as it could have been. Clemence had taken over a governess-like role for John and Elizabeth, which helped to keep them calm during the daytime.

The only thing that was missing was Charles.

With the King still in seclusion, Charles's presence at court was almost required. If he left, then the Lord Privy Seal might try to put himself in a more important position. He had come home for the last half of December and the first half of January, much to the delight of all of the rest of the family.

Charles had finally made peace with himself over what he had done the previous year, and Amelia had found comfort in the fact that what had happened had happened, and that since the rebellion had been quelled, there would be no more killings on that scale.

Violence still prevailed in the capitol. When Charles wrote, he told her that it was all because of Cromwell, and Amelia had started to feel as though Cromwell should no longer be in the position of power that he was in.

There had been several requests from the last few months from various people to see Edward, most notably Edward Seymour himself, who insisted that as the Prince's uncle, he had the right to see the boy whenever he so desired. Amelia had strongly disagreed, going as far as slamming the door in the man's face after telling him in a low and dangerous tone that the only ones allowed to see her brother were the ones with written permission from the King.

Therefore, the only person that had been allowed to see the baby was Sir Francis Bryan, who had complimented Amelia on the good job she had done taking care of him. In truth, even without written permission from the King, she probably would have let Sir Francis in to see the boy. It was easy to say no to Edward Seymour, because he didn't have the same violent reputation that Sir Francis did.

* * *

15 February 1538

"We must discuss marriage," Henry told Cromwell and Charles, his fingers twisting the cane he held in his hand. His attention was focused on the Lord Privy Seal. "As usual, the French want to mess me around. Who does the Emperor propose?"

"Your Majesty, the Emperor has put forward Christina, his niece, the Duchess of Milan," Cromwell said. In truth, he was not happy with the idea of a marriage to someone who was related to the Holy Roman Emperor. It meant that the new Queen would be Catholic, and then all hope of their reformation would be lost.

"Tell me about her," the King commanded.

"Originally from Denmark, she was married at thirteen to the Duke of Milan, Francesco Sforza, who died a year later," Charles said, moving towards the King. "She is now sixteen, both a widow and, apparently, still a maid. She's living in Brussels with the Regent, Mary of Hungary. She is reported to be a great beauty, and likes nothing better than hunting and playing cards."

"Denmark, did you say?" Henry asked. His interest and curiosity was piqued.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles replied. "She is the younger surviving daughter of King Christian II, whose son the Lady Amelia was betrothed to for many years. She was only about twelve when the Lady Amelia returned to England."

"So my daughter and your wife may know more about the Duchess…" Henry said, his thoughts trailing off. "Hunting and playing cards? I like her already. Have our ambassador in the Netherlands find out more about her. In the meantime, I would quite like to speak with your wife, Your Grace, and learn what she knows."

* * *

1 March 1538

When Amelia arrived at court, the was dancing and feasting. It was more alive than it had been in a while, from what Amelia had heard. Her father quickly caught her eye, and beckoned her forward.

"Your Majesty," Amelia said, curtsying. "And Sir Francis, what a pleasant surprise."

"Duchess," Sir Francis replied with a bow of his head.

"Amelia, my own daughter. Tell me, how is your family?" the King asked, taking a sip of wine.

"We are all doing very well," Amelia responded with a smile on her face. "Elizabeth and John are excelling at French, Latin, and Spanish, so I've been teaching them a little bit of German as well, just to challenge them. Elizabeth has also just started to learn stitching as well. Owen is an active child who's still trying to figure out how to balance on his own two feet. And Eleanor and Edward are getting bigger every day. Edward is truly a credit to Your Majesty. He sleeps much more peacefully than even my own daughter does."

Henry laughed. "I love that little boy with all your heart."

"As do I, father," Amelia agreed.

"I called you hear to ask about Christina, the Duchess of Milan," Henry told her. "I believe you knew her as your betrothed's youngest sister."

Amelia's head tilted to one side. "You are considering a marriage between yourself and Christine?" Amelia asked. "The last I heard, she was marrying Francesco II Sforza, the Duke of Milan. How long has she been widowed?"

"Since she was thirteen," said Henry.

Amelia allowed herself to take in the information. Out of the two sisters that Hans had had, Christine had been the one she was closer to. Now, the King was considering making her Amelia's step-mother.

"In Denmark, I knew her as Christine," Amelia began. "She was a wonderful girl, intelligent and kind, with the best tutors that could be afforded. Even when she was in exile, her spirit never broke. She was a true Scandinavian girl with iron in her soul."

The King was silent for a moment, and was about to speak when Cromwell approached. "Majety," the man greeted.

"Cromwell," the King returned.

"I have just received a letter from Sir John Hutton, the Ambassador in Brussels," Cromwell said. "He's been making enquiries on your Majesty's behalf about the Duchess of Milan, the Emperor's niece."

The King was suddenly very interested in the letter Cromwell had in his hand. "What does he say?" he asked eagerly.

"He writes 'There is none in these parts for beauty of person and birth to compare with the Duchess. She is not so pure white as the last Queen, and God pardon, but when she smiles, there appear two dimples in her cheeks and one in her chin, which become her very well,'" Cromwell read. He paused, his eyes briefly moving from the King to the letter.

"Has he mentioned any other ladies?" Henry asked, recognizing the action as one that meant there was more.

"Only a sister of the Duke of Cleves. Anne," Cromwell responded. "He writes-"

"I've heard about her," Henry interrupted. "They say she is of no great praise, either of her personage or her beauty. Have you heard differently, Amelia?" he asked, his attention shifting to his daughter.

"I have only heard her name, father, nothing of her person," she replied.

"Forgive me, Majesty, but on the other hand, such a match could have its advantages," Cromwell intervened, desperate to keep Anne in the running. "This realm has long been at the mercy of the machinations of the French or of the Emperor. But Cleves is a member of the Protestant League, which daily grows in power across Europe and could easily rival theirs. Thus, at last, could England make its own destiny."

Henry had to admit that he was right. It was the same thing that he had tried to accomplish by marrying Amelia to the heir to the thrones of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. They were outside of the controls of the French and Spanish, and therefore would not constantly be at ends with another country.

"Even so," Henry said, after a moment of thought, "I am anxious to see more of the Duchess of Milan. I want to make sure she's as beautiful as Hutton claims, and as kind and educated as my daughter claims. Send Master Holbein to do a sketch of her by next tide."

"Majesty," Cromwell said with a bow.

"Master Cromwell," the King dismissed.

* * *

Later in the evening, Amelia had finally gotten away from the questions of courtiers concerning her younger brother, and escaped the feast with her husband at her side.

"You seem distracted," Charles said as they walked the halls of the palace. "Unburden your mind, love."

"I do not think that there will be a match between my father and the Duchess of Milan, but his mind seems set on it," Amelia told him softly. "I am afraid of what my father might do if he does not get his way."

Charles frowned. "He is the King of England, France, and Ireland. Why would she say no?" he asked.

Amelia sighed. "The King has made a reputation for himself across Europe," she began. "I learned of it from the ambassadors tonight. They only speak of his reputation in their native tongues, for fear that if they say it in a language others understand, they might lose their heads." She paused. "He has had three wives. The first, they say, he wrongfully abandoned, and they did not accept the annulment. The second wife, they say, was an innocent when she lost her head. And his third…" She gulped, her voice barely above a whisper. "They say that he didn't do everything in his power to save her from her death."

"And you're afraid Christina might share the same fate," Charles said quietly.

She laughed. "The Emperor might give his permission for my father to marry Christine, but she is a ward of Mary of Hungary," Amelia said. "I too was once her ward. There is no doubt in my mind that Mary of Hungary has heard of the King's formidable reputation and will do everything in her power to prevent Christine from marrying him."

* * *

3 March 1538

 _Dearest Christine,_

 _I apologize deeply for not writing to you sooner. I was only just informed recently of the death of your husband, the Duke of Milan. I send my deepest sympathies. I remember how excited to were to live in Milan because of its incredible beauty._

 _Shortly after I arrived home in England, I was betrothed to Charles Brandon, the 1_ _st_ _Duke of Suffolk. He is a wonderful man, and I believe he loves me just as much as I love him. We have three children together. John, named after your brother, is our eldest. He is soon to turn four. Owen is our next child, and soon to turn two. Our youngest is Eleanor, and she is not yet a year old._

 _In addition, my father has placed my half-sister Elizabeth, daughter of the late Queen Anne, and my half-brother Edward, son of the late Queen Jane, in my care. They are both wonderful children as well. My older sister Mary also lives with me, and her help with the young children is wonderful._

 _Jeg skriver til dig, fordi jeg hører, at min far har planer om at arranger for dig at være hans næste brud. Jeg vil blot spœrge hvad du synes om Hans Majestæt. I sandhed, jeg ved, at Mary Ungarns ikke vil give din fagforening. Du er heldig at have hende som an advokat._

 _Jeg håber at høre nyt fra dig snart, og jeg afventer Deres brev spændt._

 _With much love,_

 _Amelia_

The last part of her letter read "I am writing to you because I hear that my father plans to arrange for you to be his next bride. I simply wish to inquire what you think of His Majesty. In truth, I know that Mary of Hungary will not allow your union. You are lucky to have her as your advocate. I hope to hear news from you soon, and I await your letter anxiously"

But she couldn't send the letter directly to Christine. She worried that someone had heard her talking to Charles, or that the King would see the letter going to her and believe that Amelia was either trying to secure or undermine his marriage. Either way, she believed that her letter would be intercepted and opened, probably by Cromwell himself. She didn't want the letter getting into the wrong hands.

She picked up a new piece of parchment, and began her second letter.

 _Kæreste Dorothea,_

 _Jeg skriver med tungt hjerte. Det ser ud til, at min far er tilbøjelig til at tage din søster som sin kan ikke skrive til hende direkte uden at hæve mistanke, så jeg beder dig at behage frem vedlagte brev til hende. Du er velkommen til at læse den._

 _Jeg hører fra ambassadørerne, at du er elsket I Palatine, og at du og din man der en fremragende kamp._

 _Jeg ser frem til at høre fra dig så godt._

 _Med megen kærlighed,_

 _Amelia_

It read "Dearest Dorothy, I write with a heavy heart. It seems that my father is inclined to take your sister as his bride. I cannot write to her directly without raising suspicion, so I beg of you to please forward the enclosed letter to her. You are welcome to read it.

"I hear from the ambassadors that you are beloved in Palatine, and that you and your husband are an excellent match.

"I look forward to hearing from you as well.

"With much love, Amelia."

She sent the letters without a second thought.


	30. Search for a New Queen II

**A/N: A History Lesson: The historical Edward Seymour had two wives. The first was Catherine Fillol, whom he married in 1527. They had two sons, John and Edward. Edward constantly questioned their paternity after Catherine had an affair, potentially with Edward's father Sir John Seymour. Catherine died, most likely in early 1535. Edward's second wife was Anne Stanhope, who he married in early 1535. They had ten children: Edward, Edward, Anne, Henry, Margaret, Jane, Catherine, Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth. Catherine married Francis Newdigate after Edward was executed.**

* * *

15 March 1538

 _Amelia,_

 _I am pleased to hear that your life since your arrival in England has gone well. My sister and I worried greatly about you. My husband Frederick and I are happily married, but alas, we have had a childless marriage so far. My sister is well as well. I believe that the Dowager Queen will work tirelessly for a good marriage for her. I hear talk of a Prince or a Duke, but not a King._

 _Dorothea_

Her reply was short and simple, and Dorothea's own hand. She recognized the elegant curls of the letters that Dorothea had worked so hard to perfect. It felt as though a great burden had been lifted off Amelia's shoulder, one that she hadn't even noticed was there.

* * *

26 April 1538

The King's ulcer had reformed a week ago, but it had yet to burst. Charles had seen worse injuries, but something about this was deeply unsettling. Perhaps it was the catatonic state that the King seemed to be in. Charles could tell that the King was in great pain, and hadn't left his side since he had been laid down on the bed.

His entire family had been called to the court in an effort to better guard them. Mary and Amelia were beside themselves. Like many people at court, they were unsure as to what would happen if the King did not survive. The guards around them, which now included Sir Francis, had tripled, since all four potential heirs were living in the same space. Even though Elizabeth did not entirely comprehend what was going on around her, she understood that it was serious, and a somber expression had decorated her face.

Yet again, Edward was denied access to his nephew, even though they were now living under the same, gigantic roof.

He had heard rumors that the King had died, and wanted to dispel or prove them. He hadn't decided which he would prefer. Over time, Edward Seymour had learned to conceal his true passions. On one hand, he wanted the King to pass. Then, his nephew would most likely succeed him as King. As a child, there would need to be a council of nobles ruling in his stead, and Edward was sure to be named Lord Protector.

On the other hand, the timing didn't seem quite right. His nephew was perhaps too young to take over the throne.

"My Lord?" the Duke of Suffolk asked as he watched Edward enter the room, entranced by the number and variety of herbs and spices on the table.

"I must see the King," Edward demanded.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Must?" he questioned.

"The King has lain ill for over a week," Edward said, with annoyance and a false sense of authority in his voice. "There has been no news about him, so there are rumors. Some say the King is dead." He finished with his voice in a whisper.

"That would suit you, wouldn't it? Since your nephew would be King," Charles stated.

"He is a child," Edward replied, as if he was stating something obvious. "That would be to no one's use. Not to mine, not to yours, and not to England's. With your permission, Your Grace, I would like the opportunity to disprove those rumors, or are you going to keep me from doing so just as your wife keeps me from seeing my own nephew?"

A smile briefly came across Charles's face as an image came to mind of his wife yelling at Edward Seymour, her speech dotted with words in foreign languages that would most likely have frightened anyone who heard. It disappeared as he weighed the advantages and disadvantages of allowing Edward Seymour to see the ailing king.

"Very well," Charles eventually answered. He stepped aside to let the man enter the King's bedchamber.

* * *

There was a lot of silence in Amelia's apartments. She and Mary sat by the fire most days, not speaking, simply staring at the flames until their eyes glazed over. Elizabeth and John learned their lessons from Clemence, but upon seeing Mary and Amelia in their silence, would often join them. Even Owen understood that his mother was troubled.

Someone pounding on the door startled the family. Amelia silently handed Eleanor, whom she had been holding, to Clemence as she rose to answer the door.

She opened the door slightly and was met with a seething Edward Seymour.

"I demand to see my nephew, and you cannot stop me," he told her in a low, dangerous tone.

"Alright," she said quietly.

"He is my nephew, Duchess, and I have as much a right as you to…" The angry look on his face slipped when his voice trailed off. "What did you say?" He asked in shock.

"I said 'alright,' My Lord, unless you have changed your mind," she replied, opening the door a little wider to let him in. "Please, come in before I change mine."

Edward was shocked that Amelia had put up no resistance. Normally, she was fiery and stubborn. It was hard for him to think that she was only twenty years old, since the worrying that she seemed to be doing made her look much older. She had to be worried about her father, naturally, because of the awful condition that he was in. There was no doubt that her husband was keeping her informed in regards to the King's condition.

She disappeared for a moment, and returned with a baby boy in her arms. The little six-month-old boy was still sleeping peacefully in her arms. Edward marveled at his nephew's blonde hair, the exact shade that his own sister had had. He was almost afraid he'd drop the boy when Amelia gently placed him in his arms.

"How is he?" Edward asked.

"A credit to His Majesty in every way, and to his late mother the Queen," Amelia replied. "In truth, I am rather sorry that he does not have a mother to raise him, and I try to fill that role in every way the I can."

They stood in silence for a few minutes. "Why did you let me in this time?" Edward finally asked.

"Because when we stayed in Suffolk, I was under the orders of the King not to let anyone without his express permission to see Edward, even if they were his family," Amelia told him, turning away. "He's my family too. For most of my life, I have been a pawn in a political game, first in my betrothal to Prince Hans, then in my return to England, and then in the settlement of my marriage." She turned back to Edward and met his eyes. "I could have been married to George Boleyn, simply because his sister was the Queen. If that had happened, after his death, it is likely I would have been married to your brother, simply because my father favored your family."

"You would not marry my brother if you had been asked?" Edward asked.

Amelia laughed. "I would have married George Boleyn, and if I survived, I would have married your brother without complaint. George was an awful man, a truly vile human being when I first met him, but your brother hasn't left an impression like that on me," Amelia replied carefully. "In truth, I still believe myself to be a pawn. Some call my husband the Second King, and our marriage only served to secure his position. But he loves me, My Lord, and I could not say the same for any other man who was a potential candidate."

"You haven't answered my question, Duchess," Edward said, taking a step towards her.

She smiled sadly and placed a hand on her brother's head. "Even though he is a prince, I do not want him to be someone's pawn in a play for power. The King will treat his son how he pleases, and I will go along. But the rumor is that my father is dying." She looked up at Edward Seymour. "If my father dies, I believe that you will be named Lord Protector. I wanted to ask you to think of Edward as not just a Prince, but a child, and to ask that you act truly in his best interests instead of your own, because one day, he will come of age and have his own power. Then, he will no longer be a willing pawn in anyone's game."

He was silent for a moment. "I am glad, that in lieu of my late sister, that you are the one raising my nephew," he said. And Edward meant it. It was clear to him that this girl would give anything to protect the Prince. "I promise that if I become Lord Protector, everything I do will be in the interest of England, and in the interest of the Prince."

* * *

2 May 1538

Over a week passed with no real news of the King. Charles had promised Amelia that it would all be over soon, but she didn't understand what his words meant until the King walked into her apartments on his own two feet, cane in hand.

Everyone in the family who was able to had scrambled to their feet and flocked to the father or grandfather. Mary and Amelia were both crying with joy, while Elizabeth, John, and Owen had bounced up and down excitedly at the appearance of the King.

Eventually, everyone calmed to the point where Amelia and Charles were able to slip away and return with the babies, Amelia holding Edward and Charles holding Eleanor. The King held Eleanor first, marveling at her dark hair and bright blue eyes. He then took his son in his arms, and kissed the boy gently on the forehead.

"I love you, my son," he whispered. "And I love all of my daughters and grandchildren as well."

The small group of nobles that had come in behind the King, including Sir Francis, Edward Seymour, and Cromwell, applauded at the King's statements. Then, as quickly as he had come, he had left.

As Edward Seymour left, he bowed his head respectfully to Amelia, and she nodded her head back. This interaction went unnoticed by everyone, save for Charles.

"Edward Seymour?" he said, the name coming out as a question.

"We came to an understanding over the Prince," Amelia replied. "That's all." She turned to look at her husband, and passed Edward to her sister before taking a few steps towards him. "She's very glad to have her father back," Amelia whispered to her husband, looking down at Eleanor. "And I am glad to have my husband back."

Their eyes met. "Happy birthday, my love," Charles whispered back as he leaned down to kiss his wife.

* * *

9 May 1538

 _Kæreste Amelia,_

 _Jeg er glad for at høre nyheden om din familie. Jeg er glad for at du har fundet en person, der elsker dig, of jeg håber en dag at finde det samme._

 _Hvis jeg havde to hoveder, ville man være til rådighed for din far, men jeg har kun den ene. Hvis kejseren befaler mig at ordne mit hjerte på ægteskab, så jeg skal. Men hvis han ikke gør, så vil jeg ikke._

 _Christine_

"Dearest Amelia," the letter read. "I am pleased to hear news of your family. I am glad that you found someone who loves you, and I hope to one day find the same.

"If I had two heads, one would be at the disposal of your father, but I only have the one. If the Emperor commands me to fix my heart on marriage, then I shall. But if he does not, then I will not."

Signed by Christine.

Amelia let out a sigh of relief. Based on her response, Christine would not be marrying her father, unless the Emperor insisted. And from what she knew about the Emperor, he would not force Christine into a marriage.


	31. Protestant Anne of Cleves I

**A/N: Currently settling into a new semester at college.**

 **For some reason, in the show, the treaty that is presented to the Duke of Cleves includes the idea that Mary would be married to the Duke's eldest son. According to the show, the Duke is Anne's brother, William, who was 22 at the time, and the same age as Mary. His father, John III, died in 1539. If the English envoys had been speaking to John III, then they would have been referring to William.**

 **To make this longer, I also read an excellent theory regarding why Henry and Anne Boleyn only had one child. The theory is that Anne Boleyn had a negative blood type (which was rare) and that Henry had a more common positive one. Since the positive was dominant, his children were also all likely positive. Anne's body would have been exposed to the markers on the cells via the fetus's blood and then created antibodies. It would explain why they only had one child followed by so many miscarriages.**

* * *

23 September 1538

It seemed as though the King's marital reputation had spread to all of Europe, and there were not many who were willing to send their daughters to be Queen. Christine, much to Amelia's relief, was no longer one of those favored to become the King's next bride. Unfortunately for her, it meant that the King was also no longer considering marriage between Mary and Don Luis, which had made her sister sad.

Amelia's children brought Mary joy, however. They loved her dearly, as much as if she were their own mother.

Mary was slightly jealous of her sister. She was married, happy, and had multiple children. She had exactly what Mary had always desired. Even though she was jealous, she couldn't bring herself to be angry with her sister. She had simply gotten very, very lucky. She could have been married to that vile man George Boleyn.

They now split their time between Westhorpe and court, depending on the King's mood or how deep his paranoia ran. Mary thought the King had very little need to be worried. With Amelia taking care of Edward, and her fierce devotion to all of her children, no one was willing to lay their hands on them.

Besides, even in Mary could barely tell the difference between Eleanor and Edward. They seemed to share the same features. They were each a year old now, and becoming fast friends.

Mary tried to be happy for her sister when she told her that she was pregnant again. Really, she did. But there was still a certain jealousy in her mind that pervaded her thoughts. Why couldn't she have what her sister had?

* * *

9 March 1539

Amelia gave birth to a baby girl, named Jane, among the immense panic that had seized all of England over the thought of a joint invasion from Spain and France. She had decided to retire to Westhorpe with her family so that everyone could be a little more at ease. It was no good trying to run a household if everyone was always in a panicked state.

* * *

6 May 1539

The news had come from the King himself that they were all safe. The French and Spanish alliance had not lasted very long at all.

The entire family returned to London with smiles on their faces. John and Elizabeth, now both five, had taken to exploring around Westhorpe in the time they were there, even if it was chilly outside and Amelia had told them to stay indoors. They were happy to have the entire palace to explore and wander, and Amelia could have peace of mind that they would not catch their death of cold.

Owen was almost three years old now, and starting to do things for himself. He liked to insist that he didn't need to hold Amelia or Mary's hands when he walked, but almost always held the hands of Eleanor and Edward, who were both still only about a eighteen months old.

Jane was still a tiny, 3-month-old baby when they returned. Charles had greeted the family as soon as they stepped out of their carriage, firstly by being tackled by his three eldest children, Edward, and Elizabeth when he knelt down to greet them. He laughed as he pretended to cry out in defeat, earning a grin from the King and the small party of nobles that had gathered to welcome the family back to the city.

When they grew boerd of Charles, they swarmed the King and the nobles, chattering on about their journey and that one time that Amelia had scolded them for wandering into the gardens. Everyone was very excited to see the King again, and, to an extent, Sir Francis. The man with the eyepatch had visited Suffolk a few times over the last few years, and was a constant fixture at court. Therefore, the children all knew who he was, and were always happy to see a familiar face in a sea of those they didn't immediately recognize.

Once Charles had managed to get himself off the ground, he stepped towards his wife and kissed her gently. "Welcome, my love," he whispered softly. He looked down at the sleeping baby that she held in her arms. "Welcome to London, Jane."

His hand rested gently on the small of her back as they began to walk. "I hear that the King intends to marry Anne of Cleves," Amelia said, looking up at her husband. "Is that good news or bad? I never knew much about her."

Charles was silent for a moment. "It depends," he finally responded. "It's an alliance with someone outside of the French-Imperial conflict, which is a welcome change to England, but it puts us in an alliance with the Protestant League. I don't know what that means for the Church of England."

"Good things, one would hope," Amelia replied with a small laugh. "It will be a great change for this realm, to have a Queen not from France or Spain."

* * *

4 September 1539

"The Duke of Suffolk, Your Grace," the herald announced.

Edward Seymour lifted his head from his hand in disbelief, and then quickly rose to his feet. "Your Grace, to what do I owe this honor?" he asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice as he bowed.

"I'm here to congratulate you," Charles said. "I understand the King has made you Earl of Hertford, and I believe it is time to patch up our past quarrels and differences. There are better quarrels to be had."

Edward smiled. "I am happy to agree with Your Grace. Drink?" he offered, turning to the pitcher of wine on his table by the fire.

"Please," Charles responded.

Edward poured a glass of wine, and motioned to the chair next to his. Charles sat, and held the glass of wine in his hands for a moment. "My wife and I are commanded to meet the princess at Calais," Charles said.

"And how is the Duchess, Your Grace?" Edward interrupted. "I have seen her so rarely over the past few months, only when I go to visit my nephew, and even so, we rarely get to speak."

"She is doing well," Charles said with a smile. "She is quite busy now, managing six children. Our youngest, Jane, keeps her up most of the night. It makes her rather tired." Charles recalled the numerous times over the past few months when he had come home to find his wife fast asleep in the oddest of places. Just last night, she had fallen asleep in a chair in front of the fire. To be fair, it was one of the warmest spots in their apartment.

"I also hear that the Duchess speaks fluent German, does she not?" Edward asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Charles nodded. "One of many that she speaks," he replied. "The King wishes to make the Princess feel welcome, so Amelia is to help her to understand the English language." He paused for a moment. "A great many things hand upon this marriage, do they not?"

"The King's happiness, for one," Edward said, nodding in agreement. "And my Lord Cromwell's reputation," he added after a moment's hesitation.

"What a pity if all should go awry for some reason," Charles said, trying to feel out Edward's stance on the impending marriage.

"I would have pity for the King," Edward responded.

"But on the other hand?" Charles pushed.

In the ensuing silence, both men smiled. They had come to a mutual understanding that Cromwell had to go. They both raised their glasses in a toast.

* * *

"So he is marrying a Lutheran heretic?" Mary asked, pacing back and forth with disbelief. Both Amelia and Eustace sat in front of her as she walked.

"So it seems," Eustace said as Amelia nodded in agreement.

"I am to meet her at Calais with Charles within the next month," Amelia added.

"And I shall marry no one?" Mary cried.

"My lady I-" "Mary, I-" The two voices overlapped one another.

"No, I prefer it," she interrupted. It sounded to Amelia like she was trying to convince herself. "Do you suppose I would like to be married off to the Duke's brother or some heretic cousin of his?" She huffed. "I would prefer to live in a nunnery."

Both Amelia and Eustace shared a look. Amelia knew that her sister did not mean what she said. All Mary had talked about since the Emperor had proposed that Don Luis marry Mary was her own marriage in the future, and all the children that she was going to have, and how they would be just as amazing as her nieces and nephews were.

"I do not know what to think of the King!" Mary continued. "He burns one Lutheran and then marries another? Well, if God so wills it, she might drown at sea."

Amelia knew that Mary did not like the idea of Anne of Cleves, but Amelia was excited. Ambassadors from the German states were rare at court, with most of the ambassadors coming from Catholic nations. Her German skills were a little bit rusty, and she was anxious to test them out with the Princess. Besides, she had worked hard to teach all of her children basic German phrases so they could talk to the Princess in her native language, and make her feel more welcome in England than others would make her feel.


	32. Protestant Anne of Cleves II

**A/N: In the show, Philip, the Duke of Bavaria, is a potential suitor for the Lady Mary. In real life, Philip, Duke of Palatinate-Neuburg, courted the Lady Mary. They first met in December of 1539, during which he gave her a gift and kissed her. Mary reciprocated his affections, even though there were religious differences between the two. Many at court believed that they would be married, but Henry did not allow them to because of Philip's relation to Anne. He visited her a few more times after Henry had sent him away from court. He was 36 when he first met Mary, and died in 1548 at the age of 45.**

* * *

20 January 1539

"Gentlemen, we bid you welcome to Calais on this most auspicious occasion," the English ambassador said.

Anne of Cleves had finally arrived in English-occupied France. Though the contract of marriage between King Henry and Anne had been signed months ago, there were things that had to be done in preparation and so on and so forth before the Princess could start her journey to England.

Amelia stood beside her husband, and for one of the first times since she had become a mother, she had left all of her children in someone else's care, specifically Mary and Clemence. It made her feel a tad bit nervous, especially given how young Jane was, but she maintained that Mary and Clemence would do what was in the best interest of all of the children.

"Danke," one of the German ambassadors replied.

A particularly awkward moment of silence followed. The English ambassador, naturally, had been expecting a conversation to ensue, but it was obvious that the German men did not think the same way.

"May I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, and his wife, the Duchess," the English ambassador hastily said, trying to hide his surprise.

"Your Graces, an honor," one of the ambassadors said with a bow. "Ich bin Herr Hoghesten, und dies ist Graf Olisleger," Hoghesten told them, gesturing to both himself and the man next to him. _I am Mr. Hoghesten, and this is Count Olisleger._

"Hello," the Count said. "And here is she, Her Highness, Princess Anne, after a long time, my God."

There was a collective chuckle in the room at the Count's statements, since everyone could feel the validity of them. To Charles and the English ambassador, the process seemed uncomfortably long, but Amelia completely understood the fanfare that went into the presentation of a Princess to foreign dignitaries.

Finally, Anne of Cleves stood before them, dressed in black from head to toe, her face obscured by a black veil.

"Your Highness," Charles said with a bow. The English ambassador and Amelia followed suit.

The woman curtsied in response. "Good day, Your Grace."

"I'm afraid the bad weather will prevent our sailing for a few days," Charles told her, shooting Amelia a nervous glance. He wasn't sure how well the Princess spoke English.

"I understand," was all she said in response.

There was another short pause. "Your Highness, I would like to present to you my wife, the Duchess Amelia, and daughter to His Majesty King Henry VIII," Charles said.

"Eure Hoheit, wilkommen in England," Amelia said, bowing again. "Seine Majestät hat mich mit Ihnen hilft, mehr Komfort mit unserer Sprache und Kultur fühlen." _Your Highness, welcome to England. His Majesty has tasked me with helping you feel more comfortable with our language and culture._

"Danke, Herzogin," Anne replied. She smiled warmly, even though she couldn't be seen from behind her veil. "Perhaps Your Graces could, uh…" She paused, struggling to find the words. "Welche Engländer essen?" she finally asked.

Amelia turned back to the men standing behind her. "Her Highness would like to know what English people eat," she told them.

"Of course," Charles responded to Anne, a smile breaking out across his face.

"And maybe show me something the King likes to do?" Anne added, a note of hope in her voice.

Charles and Amelia simply shared a smile. Anne was just what the King needed.

* * *

1 January 1540

The King had asked Amelia to stay with Anne until he had formally met his wife, which unfortunately meant that Amelia and Charles had to be separated. It also meant that she stayed away from her children longer, but she held on to the hope that she would be reunited with them soon.

In the meantime, she took to telling Anne about herself and her siblings.

"The Lady Mary is His Majesty's oldest daughter by his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, who is also my mother," Amelia began. "She is nearly twenty-four years old, but not yet married. With the contract between Your Highness and His Majesty, the potential marriage between my sister and Don Luis, heir to the throne of Portugal, no longer stands."

Anne looked genuinely saddened by this. "I am sorry that your sister does not have a husband," she told Amelia. "Perhaps I can help. I have a cousin, Philip, who is not yet married. Perhaps I shall send for him to come to England."

"I think Mary would enjoy that," Amelia said, a smile crossing her face. In truth, Mary might be a little upset by the presence of a Lutheran, but she hoped that if the Duke did come, that Mary would at least give him a chance. "Our younger sister, the Lady Elizabeth, is the daughter of His Majesty's second wife, Anne Boleyn. She is a brilliant girl with an affinity for languages. Even though she is only six, she is showing wonderful potential for fluency in French, Latin, and Italian."

"That is wonderful!" Anne exclaimed. "I cannot wait to make her acquaintance. The King also has a son, does he not?"

Amelia nodded. "Edward," she replied. "His Majesty loves Edward with all of his heart, and has every reason to. Edward is…"

She trailed off as a well-dressed man walked through the door and bowed to the people in the room. "Your Highess, a nobleman has arrived to present you with a gift to welcome you to England," he said.

Anne and Amelia both rose as Henry burst through the doors, crossing the room quickly in long strides before he found himself standing in front of Anne. There was a look of shock on her face as he approached, and Amelia felt dread grow in the pit of her stomach. Unsure of what to do, Anne looked briefly at Amelia and the nobleman, who both gestured for her to bow. She turned back to Henry and fell to the ground in a deep curtsey.

Henry looked to the nobleman with annoyance, and sighed. "Madam," he addressed the Princess.

When she didn't stand right away, he motioned for her to do so. He looked at her closely for a minute. She looked similar to Master Holbein's portrait, but for some reason, it was not a completely accurate portrayal. He kissed her, quickly and suddenly, much to her surprise.

"I'm, um, I'm here to welcome you to my realm," Henry said, quickly trying to cover up his disappointment in Anne's character as he bowed before her. "I trust that you are comfortable here, before your… journey to London."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she replied. "The Duchess of Suffolk has been a great comfort to me."

There was another awkward pause, where Anne couldn't meet the King's eyes. "I will see you anon," he finally said, before turning on his heel and leaving as swiftly as he had come.

Anne turned and sat in one of the chairs. This was not exactly how she had planned to meet her future husband, the King of England. She had made a fool out of herself, and she suspected that he was not very happy with her. "Ich sollte mehr Lehren aus der Duke genommen haben," she murmured. "English Manieren sind sehr verschieden von der unsrigen." _I should have taken more lessons from the Duke. English manners are very different from ours._

"Fürchte dich nicht, Madam," Amelia said softly. "Seine Majestät war einfach nach einem alten englischen Aberglaube. Ich bin sicher, seine Majestät warden verstehen, es gibt nichts wie es in der Kultur." _Fear not Madam. His Majesty was simply following an old English superstition. I am sure His Majesty will understand there is nothing like it in your culture._

"Ich hoffe auf meiner Dame willen, dass Sie Recht," one of Anne's ladies said. _I hope for My Lady's sake that you are right_.

Amelia exhaled deeply. "Også mig," she said softly, in a language that only she would understand.

 _Me too._


	33. Protestant Anne of Cleves III

**A/N: I'm still working on this story, I promise. I just have more classes this semester than I did last semester. I know exactly how the rest of the story is going to play out and what's going to happen to each character, but unfortunately, writing requires time, which I seem to be a little short on. I thank each and every one of you for your immense patience, for following/favoriting this story, and for all of the lovely reviews that you leave. Y'all are the best!**

* * *

4 January 1540

It was great to be great to be reunited with her family. Amelia had missed them greatly when she was away. All of her children had scrambled over to see her when she walked in the door, save for Jane, who was far too young.

Now, they stood by Clemence, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the Princess. Amelia stood next to her father's throne, Edward in her arms. Mary and Elizabeth stood on the other side, neutral expressions on their faces. Mary was not pleased with the fact that the new Queen was Protestant, nor that with the new Queen, her marriage prospects would quickly dry up. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was excited, although she had learned to hide her excitement well.

"My Lady, I am here to welcome you to what is yours," the King told Anne after he kissed her.

She smiled, which Elizabeth thought made her look quite pretty. "Your Majesty is very gracious, and I am very happy," Anne replied.

There was a brief pause before Cromwell started to clap, and was quickly joined by many at court. There was a big smile on Cromwell's face. Anne was saying and doing all the right things to impress the King and the courtiers. He was sure that the King, and the Kingdom, would grow to love her.

Henry took his future Queen's hand and turned to stand at her side. "My daughters," he told her. "The Princess Mary."

Mary stepped forward and curtsied low in front of Anne. "Madam," she said, her words short. She returned to her position without saying anything more.

"The Princess Elizabeth," Henry continued, gesturing to his youngest daughter.

A smile came across Elizabeth's face as she walked forward to meet Anne. She curtsied as well, before giving Anne a bouquet of flowers. "Für Sie," Elizabeth said as she presented the flowers. "Ich denke, sie sind hübsch." _For you. I think they are pretty._

A wide smile crossed Anne's face. "Dankeschön Prinzessin," she replied, genuinely surprised that the young girl could speak a little German. "I think you are pretty too."

Amelia was the only one who caught Mary's reaction to Anne's statement. Though turning her head away from the scene was a subtle gesture, Amelia knew that it meant that Mary was upset that Elizabeth had decided she liked Anne.

"Lastly, the Princess Amelia, Duchess of Suffolk, and my son, Prince Edward," Henry finished with a proud smile on his face.

Amelia stepped forward, holding Edward on her hip. "Wilkommen in englischen Hofstaat, Madam," Amelia greeted. "Erlauben Sie mir, mein Bruder, Prinz Edward zu präsentieren." _Welcome to English court, Madam. Allow me to present my brother, Prince Edward._

She carefully handed the young Prince over to Anne, who marveled at him. "He is wonderful, Your Majesty," she gushed. At this, the King managed to crack a smile. "I shall love them all," she declared.

There was more applause after Anne's statements, much to the joy of Cromwell and the disappointment of the King. He led her to the throne and together they stood, presented as a King and his soon-to-be wife.

* * *

"I like her not," were the first words out of Henry's mouth that night at supper when he dined with Charles. His cane bounced up and down anxiously. He truly did not want to marry Anne. When he had married Catherine, he had quickly fallen in love with her. She had been a true beauty when they had first been wed. He had also loved both Anne Boleyn and Jane when he had married them. His first three marriages had all been based on love, but this one? In this, he was a pawn. And he hated it.

"But it seems that Your Majesty must marry her," Charles responded.

"Who says I must?" Henry countered quickly. "Cromwell?" He scoffed. "I have my lawyers working on it. The betrothal can be prevented on two grounds: Either the German envoys fail to bring a commission from the Duke authorizing to conclude the legalities of the marriage, or they can't provide written evidence that her previous betrothal was formally revoked. Either way, I can get out of it."

Charles felt as though the King sounded a little mad, but kept his opinions to himself. "I wish with all my heart that Your Majesty is successful," he said carefully. "It seems to me that My Lord Cromwell is too keen to stress the lack of any remedy."

The King scoffed again. "The marriage was his idea," Henry replied. "There were other candidates. The Duchess of Milan is supposed to be the most desirable woman in the world, instead of which…" He trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for words."

"Perhaps, in this matter, My Lord Cromwell has overreached himself?" Charles proposed cautiously.

"Perhaps," the King whispered in agreement. "Oh God," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "If there is no remedy, I must put my neck into this yoke." He threw his napkin down angrily.

* * *

"My Lord Hertford, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Amelia asked when she opened the door to her apartments and saw the Earl standing on the other side.

"I came to see my nephew," he replied bluntly.

Amelia opened the door wider and stepped aside to let Edward in. He waited patiently as Amelia found the two-year-old boy, who had been playing with Eleanor and Owen. "Uncle Edward!" the boy had shouted upon seeing Edward.

The man cracked a smile as he bent down to scoop up the younger Edward. "How are you, My Lord?" Edward asked.

"I am doing very good, My Lord," the younger Edward replied.

At that moment, Charles came home for the night. At the look on his face, Edward put Edward back on the ground, and Amelia quickly nudged the boy back towards where Eleanor and Owen were still playing.

"What's happened?" Amelia asked softly after greeting her husband with a kiss on the cheek.

"The King does not like Anne," Charles responded. His expression was unreadable. "He doesn't wish to marry her but Cromwell is insisting that there is no other option but marriage, and the King's lawyers are agreeing."

The three remained silent for a moment. "I feel terrible for Anne," Amelia said suddenly. The two men simply looked at her. "I mean, she's only been in England for less than a month," she continued. "Her English is good, but it's not excellent. And now, she's being forced to marry a man who will not even try to grow to love her. In all honesty, I would be terrified if I was her. She deserves to marry someone who will love her."

"I agree," Edward added. "The Princess is a very kind woman, like my sister before her, but the King does not love her as he loved my sister." He paused. "What does this mean for Cromwell? Is the King Displeased with him?"

"Very," Charles replied. "In fact, I think we might soon see the end of Cromwell."


	34. The Undoing of Cromwell

**A/N: I'm so sorry. It's been like, what, two months now? I got caught up in school, then I had a solid month of work, and then it was spring break! Don't worry, I still intend to finish this story. I guess I just went on a short hiatus.**

 **In history, Thomas Cromwell's execution was the same day as Katherine Howard's marriage to the King. For the added drama, we're going to keep it that way. Also, "Mad Walter" was another man accused of treason (one of the reasons being predicting how long the king was going to live), not those other crimes. To keep that nice T rating, we're going to stick with history.**

* * *

19 April 1540

"Who is that who you just brought to the King?" Amelia asked her husband when he returned. "She's so young and scrawny-looking. Where did she come from?"

"Her name is Katherine Howard," Charles replied, gently wrapping his arm around his wife's waist. "She's related to the Duke of Norfolk."

Amelia froze. "Are you meaning to tell me that you are trying to find the King a new wife?" she whispered quietly.

Before Charles could answer, Duke Philip cried out that Mary had stepped on his foot, leading to the man limping off the floor followed by Mary, muttering apologies after him. Amelia laughed as she watched the scene. Mary was one of the best dancers that Amelia knew. She certainly would never step on her partner's toes.

"Perhaps," Amelia whispered, an idea forming in her head. "If, for some reason, the King found that Queen Anne was not his lawfully wedded wife, he would consider a union between Mary and the Duke of Bavaria to keep our nation's ties to the German states strong."

Charles couldn't think of any reason to disagree.

* * *

24 April 1540

"He's done what?" Amelia cried, a look of shock and surprise filling her face.

Mary sat across the table, shaking her head. "He's given that wench a sizeable piece of property," she repeated. "It's got two houses on it. Two!"

"But she's a child!" Amelia exclaimed. How did Katherine Howard manage to get the King to award her confiscated property?

"I think that she's his mistress," Mary said quietly. "When we were very young, His Majesty took a woman named Elizabeth Blount as his mistress. She was younger than Katherine is, but his affection for her did not cause him to dissolve his marriage to our mother."

"But Anne Boleyn did," Amelia replied. "I can't help to feel that Edward and Charles are to blame for Katherine's appearance at court. I feel sorry for Her Majesty. She has no idea that any of this is even happening."

Mary was silent. "I still am not sure if I like Her Majesty," she whispered.

"It's not Her Majesty's fault," Amelia retorted. "It's my Lord Cromwell's fault. He was the one who convinced the King to marry Anne, to take her from her homeland and transplant her here and expected that everyone would just be fine with it." Her voice grew louder and more passionate as she spoke. "I can relate to Queen Anne, only my husband truly loved me when we were married, whereas our father only gave her a fleeting chance," she finished softly.

"But what of Katherine Howard?" Mary asked.

"I can only hope that she is the recipient of the King's fleeting affection, and nothing more," Amelia responded. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. "I am with child," Amelia suddenly said, keeping her voice low.

Mary looked surprised, but didn't say anything.

"I haven't told Charles yet," Amelia continued, rising from her chair and walking over to the large window that was behind her seat. "In fact, you're the first person that I've told. I just can't help but to feel a little… guilty."

"Guilty?" Mary repeated, mulling over her sister's choice of words.

"Yes, guilty," Amelia confirmed. "I'm pregnant with my fifth child, and Her Majesty has been married to our father for nearly four months, yet she herself is not with child. I mean, it's every wife's greatest duty, is it not? Especially a Queen?"

"I'm sure there is a reason that Her Majesty is not with child," Mary replied. "Maybe I myself will soon be married with child."

Amelia spun around to face her sister, a mischievous grin on her face. "What happened between you and the Duke?" she asked.

Mary simply laughed at the expression on her sister's face.

* * *

10 June 1540

Although they had hoped and prayed for the last month that Duke Philip would be Mary's match, it appeared to not be so when Mary burst suddenly into Amelia's apartments with tears streaming down her cheeks. Everyone in the little family had gathered around Mary as she fell to the ground at Amelia's feet, her head resting on Amelia's lap. Amelia stroked her older sister's hair gently, reassuring her that everything would be just fine, and that the King could always change his mind.

No one was really sure how long they all sat, with all six of the children gathered around Mary and trying to get her to smile again. Mary tried to smile, but the all-too-familiar feeling of emptiness and loneliness kept creeping back into her heart, reminding her that she might never be a mother as she had always dreamed she would be.

* * *

"Cromwell was arrested on suspicion of treason this afternoon," Charles told his wife as they prepared for bed.

"Oh really?" Amelia responded, feigning interest in her husband's topic of conversation.

"Are you upset with me?" Charles asked.

Amelia turned to face her husband, only to see that he had moved to stand right behind her. She jumped when she turned, and his hands gripped her waist to keep her from falling over.

"A little," she whispered. "I'm still a little bitter over Katherine Howard, although I haven't seen her at court lately, so I guess I should not be concerned." There was a pause, where Amelia and Charles simply looked at each other. "I'm pregnant," Amelia blurted out.

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," Charles responded, barely batting an eye.

"You knew?" Amelia asked, completely caught off guard.

Her husband laughed, pulling Amelia close so that she could feel the rumble in his chest. His chin rested on top of his head. "Of course I knew," he replied. "I share a bed with you every night. It would be hard for me not to notice."

"I'm so sorry, Charles. I should have told you much sooner," Amelia apologized.

"There's no need for apologies," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "It's been a hard few weeks for all of us."

Amelia slept better that night than she had for the past month.

* * *

24 June 1540

Henry barely listened to Edward Seymour as he spoke, opting instead to look at his wife. Even though Anne had been Queen for a few months now, she still looked frightened and confused by everything that went on around her. He could not have someone like that as his Queen, not after seeing how diplomatic Catherine was, how tenacious Anne was, and how kind Jane was. Anne had taken on none of those qualities. Was she even fit to be Queen of England?

"… And that Your Majesty never consented to it," Edward said in a low tone. "To be even more diplomatic, you could propose an alternate match between England and the Duchy of Cleves through a marriage between the Princess Mary and Duke Philip of Bavaria."

Henry paused, mulling over Edward's words. "Send a deputation to Mr. Cromwell, demanding of him written evidence supporting my annulment," Henry commanded. "Doubtless, he'll remember how often I spoke to him of how my nature abhors that woman." He thought for a moment. "Send some ambassadors to Bavaria. I want to know more about Duke Philip, everything there is to know about him."

Perhaps exchanging one German match for another would work in England's favor.

* * *

9 July 1540

Amelia would remember this day as one that brought her incredibly mixed emotions.

First, the King announced that his marriage to Anne of Cleves had been annulled, and that she was to formally be known as the King's sister. On one hand, Amelia was happy that Anne had been spared the unhappy fate of her predecessors, but on the other, she wished that Anne would have been allowed to return to her home country, perhaps to find a husband who would truly love her.

Second, the King formally announced a betrothal between Princess Mary of England to Duke Philip of Bavaria. It was easy to see that Philip won over the hearts of the people, and those who watched Mary carefully could see her radiate pure joy and happiness from underneath her diplomatic mask of indifference. The date of their marriage had yet to be set, but everyone hoped that it would be soon.

Third, Charles had decided that the latest outbreak of plague in the city was reason enough to move the entire family back to Westhorpe, and Amelia did not disagree. She missed Suffolk greatly.

Fourth, it was rumored that Katherine Howard would become the next Queen of England. That did not sit well with Amelia at all.

* * *

27 July 1540

Amelia walked down the halls of Westhorpe slowly, one hand running over the ledges of the open windows that filled the house with fresh air, the other rubbing small circles over her slightly swollen stomach. Tomorrow, Thomas Cromwell would die and Katherine Howard would become Queen of England.

Although she hated Cromwell for what he had done to Anne of Cleves, she would never wish death upon any man. There had to be something else that could be done to punish him.

And Katherine? She wasn't quite sure on her feelings towards the girl herself, but she knew that she was not happy with the concept of her father marrying someone younger than herself. She could not complain about the age gap between Katherine and her father without saying bad things about her own marriage.

She heard conversation and laughter coming from down the hall, and hurried to see what was going on. Amelia pressed her back against the wall next to the doorway, simply wanting to hear without being seen.

"Will Your Grace be on Tower Hill tomorrow?" she heard her husband ask.

"Try to keep me away," a male voice responded. Sir Francis, she believed.

"I can vouchsafe to Your Grace that his final end will be the most ignominious ever," Charles said.

"So I have heard, Your Grace," Sir Francis replied. "So I have heard."

"What is he talking about? Tell me," a woman's voice chimed in. Amelia wasn't able to place the voice in her head. Perhaps it was someone she spoke to in passing?"

"Cromwell is set to appear on the same scaffold as Lord Hungerford, otherwise known as Mad Walter, who has been sentenced to death for various offences, including paying magicians to determine the length of His Majesty's life," Sir Francis said.

"At least he won't have to pay them to predict the date of his own," another male voice added. _Edward Seymour_ , the voice in her head told her. There was laughter all around.

"Well, then Cromwell will be humiliated," yet another male voice said. This one, she did not really recognize at all. "The false churl who was so ambitious for others' blood."

"Ah, that is not our only device," Sir Francis said. Amelia could practically hear him grinning. "Tom and I have conceived some more sport at his Lordship's expense." His emphasis on Tom's name told Amelia that the man named Tom was in the room.

"What kind of sport?" she heard Edward ask.

"Patience, Edward," Sir Francis responded lazily. "Patience."

At this, Amelia turned to walk down the hallway more quickly than she had come up it, feeling bile rise in her throat. Sir Francis's reputation for doing awful things was no secret. It made her sick to think about what might happen to Cromwell. Even if she hated the man, he still deserved a nice, clean death.


	35. A Moment of Nostalgia

**A/N: Since there is a new queen, here's a look at how everyone is aging. Katherine Howard, as mentioned, is 17. Henry is 49. Charles is 55/56. Mary is 24. Amelia is 23. Elizabeth is 7. Edward is 3. John is 6. Owen is 4. Eleanor is almost 3. Jane is 1.**

(break)

20 August 1540

Amelia had not been present when Katherine had been announced as Queen. Charles had told her all about how the teenage girl danced gaily and stolen the hearts of all of the people at court. No matter what she was told, Amelia was still a little bitter. She was too young, too inexperienced. In truth, she did not want to support such a young girl as Queen. So she simply told her father that she was feeling unwell, and that she did not think that she could make the journey.

Mary, in the mean time, was still elated over the prospect of marriage to Philip. He was going to convert to the Church of England when he arrived in England to marry her. Although this was not Catholicism, Mary had determined that the religion her father had created was much closer to Catholicism than Lutheranism was. There were some delays that were preventing the marriage from taking place, but the King had assured his eldest daughter that her marriage would take place soon.

Unfortunately, Amelia couldn't avoid the King's request for her to meet Katherine for very long, and she found herself making the journey to London with Mary by her side. And, also luckily for her, the King wished that all of Amelia's children, save for Elizabeth and Edward, make the journey as well.

Lady Rochford was the one who greeted them, and Amelia quickly filled her in on the happenings of her life since they had last met. She escorted both women, as well as the children and ladies-in-waiting to Mary, into the Queen's chambers, announcing them as they entered.

"Lady Mary, Lady Amelia," Katherine greeted as they curtsied. Both women were slightly annoyed that the girl did not use their proper titles, for Mary was a Princess and Amelia was a Duchess.

"Madam," both women replied simultaneously.

Katherine stepped forward. "It gives me such pleasure to meet you," she said. A wide smile filled her face as she practically bounced over to the table by the windows and sat down. When Mary and Amelia's expression did not change and they continued to stand, Katherine's smile faltered, and she stood once again. "The King talks about you two often, no, all the time, with such affection." Once again, the two women remained stoic. "It is my dearest wish that you and I may be kind and loving and warm to each other. After all, Lady Mary and Lady Amelia, you are now my stepdaughters," she finished.

It was clear that Katherine had been expecting Amelia and Mary to welcome her into the family with warmth and open arms, despite the fact that Amelia and Mary were six and seven years older than her respectively. Amelia felt a sort of pity for her, for believing that the two older women would like her simply because she was now their step mother. She shuddered at the thought of calling a child "mother."

"We shall attend upon Your Majesty whenever Your Majesty chooses to invite us, pending the approval of our respective spouses," Mary answered for them. Amelia nodded her head in agreement.

"Thank you," Katherine replied, her mood seeming much more upbeat. "Will you stay a while? My maids have made some cakes."

"No, thank you," Mary replied. "I bid you good day, madam," she said with a curtsey before turning to leave.

"I shall stay, madam," Amelia replied, a small feeling of guilty and pity weighing on her heart. "I am sure that my children would love some cakes before we return to Suffolk."

The shocked expression that had crossed Katherine's face following Mary's exit was replaced with one of joy and delight. "Of course!" the young Queen cried. "When the King told me that your children would be coming, I had my maids make special cakes for them. Come, come!"

Jane spoke up as Amelia herded her children towards the maids, who were cooing with delight over them. "Your old friend is here, Miss Joan Bulmer?" Jane said, almost smugly.

Katherine's expression turned grim as a woman walked into the room. "Perhaps we shall send cakes home with you and eat them together another time," she said, looking at the woman who had just entered.

Amelia nodded and curtsied to the Queen before leading her children out, grateful for the stranger's appearance.

(break)

23 August 1540

Mary and Amelia found that, instead of returning home to Westhorpe, like they had originally planned to, the King had decided to call for Edward, Elizabeth, and Clemence to join them in London. He intended to introduce Edward and Elizabeth to the Queen before they left on their trip.

Amelia made sure to remind the pair to watch their manners when they met the new Queen, and to be kind and courteous towards her.

They were, and Amelia felt like a proud mother, even if they were not her children.

(break)

10 September 1540

At long last, Mary and Philip were married. Amelia watched the ceremony with great affection and joy for the couple. Her sister's dream of being married was finally coming true. She had been able to talk to Philip before the marriage, and found him to be a man of good standing and virtue, someone that Amelia knew would love and cherish Mary for everything that she was.

They were given an establishment of their own, in London. The crowds marveled at the new husband of the Princess, who had been created Duke of Clarence and Warwick to give him peerages in England that would make him a worthy husband of a Princess.

The children were all very excited of the prospect of having cousins.

Amelia knew that their marriage would be good, because rain fell that evening for the first time in months.

(break)

13 November 1540

It was not the first time that she had brought a child into the world without Charles. He was still away with the King and the council. This time, there was only Clemence and the midwife.

She had another son, a third boy. He was another tiny, squalling babe, but Amelia and all the children quickly fell in love.

As soon as she could, she wrote to Charles, her father, and her sister.

That evening, with her new baby, whom she had named Nicholas, Amelia began to reflect. Everything had changed so much since she had first arrived in England. Back then, her father was married to a woman who was fiercely intelligent, but never seemed to watch what she said around others. Charles seemed much younger and much fuller of life. Her sister was always stiff and stoic.

Now, her father was married to his fifth wife, a woman who was much too young and wild to be Queen of England. Charles was older, his true age starting to show through. Mary herself was happily married, and was much more willing to smile and be happy.

What would their future be like? It scared her to think that there was still big changes to come. Charles would eventually be called to heaven, as would her father, leaving her an orphan and and widow. What would become of her then? Would she remarry? Amelia was already a mother of five, which, granted, was not as many as some women that she had met. Her heart still truly belonged to Charles, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to pass it on to another man if she needed to.

That was the future, however. She wanted to focus on the present, on the tiny baby that she held in her arms and the smiles of the six children who dearly loved the newest addition to their family.

(break)

20 November 1540

Henry was glad for his daughter. He truly was. She now had given Charles three sons, three boys that could inherit his title and land. Nicholas was a strong name for the boy.

But he couldn't help but feel the jealous that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. He only had one legitimate son, and the woman who had given it to him had been lost to childbed fever. His illegitimate son had passed away, and his mother was now married to some other man.

He had been married to Katherine for four months now, and she had been his mistress for some time before that. Yet, she was still not with child. Henry still wanted another son. His father before him had lost his oldest son, Arthur, giving Henry the crown. It was never a bad idea to have a back-up plan, as Henry knew.

"Your Majesty?" a soft, seductive voice called from the other room. Henry smiled to himself and folded his daughter's letter neatly. Perhaps he and Katherine would have a son still.


	36. Sister

**A/N: This chapter contains an edited version of a scene that I had made in my head that really sparked the idea for this whole story. Enjoy!**

* * *

28 December 1540

"My Lords, the Duke of Clarence and Warwick and his wife, the Princess Mary," the herald announced.

Mary and Philip walked down the aisle arm and arm, wide smiles spread across both of their faces. It was clear to Henry that the two were very much in love, which suited him well. It would mean that Bavaria would be more interested in helping to defend the realm, now that their duke was part of it.

"Your Majesty," they said in unison, bowing deeply.

"My beautiful daughter, Mary," the King said, reaching his arms out to her and taking her hands in his own. "And my newest son, Philip. Say hello to the Queen."

Mary paused for a moment, and looked to her husband before simply saying "madam" in greeting to the Queen.

"Lady Mary, I am very glad to see you back at court, and with your new husband as well," Katherine responded.

"Thank you for our gifts," Mary said, turning her attention away from the girl and back to the King. "Your Majesty, as always, is more than generous." She shared a look with her husband.

"In return, there is something that we would like to tell Your Majesty," Philip said. "Something that we believe will only add to the joy of this occasion."

The King motioned for them to continue.

"Father, I am with child," Mary said, a smile flooding her face.

At first, the King thought that he had misheard her. His eyebrows shot up as his jaw dropped and he laughed, pulling his eldest daughter into a warm embrace. He was going to have more grandchildren, more potential heirs to the throne. The whole court erupted into cheers and applause behind Mary, everyone excited to hear the news from the one who some still believed was a true heir.

Katherine still stood in shock and disbelief. First, the Lady Mary had not treated her with kindness, or even a bit of respect. Then, she announced that she was pregnant. Pregnant! Katherine herself was still not with child, and Mary seemed to get pregnant rather quickly. How in the world was that fair? Mary was a bastard! She was the Queen! She slumped slightly in her seat as she took a gulp of wine.

"The Lady Amelia, Duchess of Suffolk, and family, the Lady Elizabeth, and Prince Edward," the herald cried out, bringing attention to the party that was slowly making its way down the aisle. Elizabeth and Edward led, followed by John, Owen, Eleanor, Jane, and Amelia, holding Nicholas in her arms. The King laughed at the sight of the mass of children that were slowly making their way towards him.

"Your Majesty," the voices all chorused, followed by some awkward bows.

"Amelia, my daughter," the King called, reaching out his arms once again.

Amelia stepped towards him, carefully navigating the children in front of her. "Hello father," she said quietly. "Madam," she added, addressing the Queen.

"This must be my youngest grandson," Henry said, looking down at the boy. "He is a most handsome boy." He paused, looking at the children. "Are my Elizabeth and Edward healthy and well-behaved?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Amelia responded with a smile. "They are a credit to Your Majesty in every way, as my own children are a credit to their father."

Henry laughed, thinking back to Charles's wild days and how far he'd come. "We are all glad that you were able to join us tonight," he added, before allowing them to move into the crowd.

As Amelia was preparing to send her children off with Clemence and the Lady Bryan, who had volunteered to help on this special occasion, the herald announced the arrival of Anne of Cleves, and Amelia knew that there was no way she could not allow her children to see her.

Charles acted as an escort, walking Anne down the aisle. He could see that Katherine was not happy with her predecessor's appearance, although the King seemed pleased at her appearance.

"Lady Anne," the King said, rising. "Welcome to my court."

With open arms, he greeted her, kissing both cheeks.

"Your Majesty," she greeted. "Happy Christmas."

"Allow me to introduce me to my new wife, Queen Katherine," Henry said.

"Lady Anne," Katherine said, still unsure of what to think of the woman.

"Your Majesty," Anne replied, curtsying deeply. "What a great privilege and honor it is for me to be presented to you. I am so delighted."

Katherine giggled, and decided that she liked Anne. "You are very welcome to court, Lady Anne," Katherine said, extending her hand down to the woman. She grasped her husband's hand. "We thank you so much for the two fine horses you sent, and wish you a very happy New Year."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Anne responded. "I think we should all be merry."

"Yes!" the King replied, clapping his hands and causing a round of applause to ring throughout the room.

As the music struck up, Anne quickly found Amelia and her children in the crowd and greeted them all warmly, especially baby Nicholas. They conversed in German, mainly talking about how Anne found her new home and how Mary and Philip were very happy together.

The German that came from the two concerned Katherine. The only language that she could speak was English. What were the women saying? Was it something about her?

* * *

"Your Excellency!" Mary called upon seeing ambassador Chapuys. She paused when she saw the man walking with a cane. "You are not well?" she asked, concern filling her face and voice.

"These days, I suffer a little from gout, Lady Mary," he replied with a humorous smile.

"Please, sit," Mary told him, gesturing to a nearby chair.

"Thank you," he replied. "Are you going to introduce me to your new husband, Lady Mary? It is my deepest regret that I could not attend your wedding."

"It is quite alright, Your Excellency," Mary said. "This is Philip, Duke of Bavaria, although while in England, he is Duke of Clarence and Warwick."

"My dear wife has always spoken very highly of you, Your Excellency," Philip said with a deep bow.

Eustace looked to Mary.

"You are and always have been my most faithful and truest friend in all this world," Mary told him, a smile on her face. "I could not bear it if you were ever to leave here."

"You have His Grace to keep you company now, Lady Mary," Eustace responded, looking to the man standing behind her with his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "And, I hear, a little one soon on the way. I believe congratulations are in order." He paused for a moment. "Your mother would be proud."

The sad smile that Mary and Eustace shared was broken by Henry and Katherine laughing loudly. Mary took a deep, annoyed breath before turning back to Eustace. "He ought not to have divorced the Lady Anne," she said. "Now that I know her better, I think she is perfectly sweet and gracious. She was the one who introduced me to Philip, after all."

"I would not be here if it were not for my cousin," Philip added. "I have great reason to thank her."

"Nevertheless, Lady Mary, I fear that you will reconcile yourself to the new Queen," Eustace told her honestly.

"No, I will not!" Mary exclaimed. "I hate her."

There was a pause. "Then, perhaps, after all, you do not require my advice any more," Eustace replied.

As much as Mary hated to admit it, she knew that he was right.

* * *

4 January 1541

As Mary prayed for her unborn child, one of her maids hurriedly whispered to her that the Queen had come for an unannounced visit. She was annoyed that the girl would turn up at her home, especially when she was in the middle of her prayers.

Katherine stood impatiently, her hands on her hips, as she waited for the woman to rise from her seat. There was a stab of jealousy when she saw the slightly looser-fitting dress that Mary wore to accommodate her slightly swollen belly. Why hadn't Katherine become pregnant yet?

Mary walked slowly and carefully into the other chamber, and set her Bible and rosary down before greeting the Queen.

"Lady Mary," the Queen began. "I have come here in person to ask you why you will not show me the respect which, as Queen of England, I am entitled to expect, even from you. I noticed, as did everyone else, that you show the greatest respect to the Lady Anne of Cleves, even though she is now just a private person and worth no account."

"Forgive me, but surely the Lady Anne is worthy of every respect?" Mary questioned in response. "She carries herself with great dignity, and also modesty, and desires nothing more than to please the King her Lord. Through my marriage, she is also now my cousin, and worthy of the same respect that I would give my cousin the Emperor as well."

Katherine continued to fidget and slouch as Mary spoke, proving Mary's point that Katherine was neither dignified nor modest, as Anne had been. "Do you mean I do not try to please him?" Katherine retorted. "Do I not deserve the same respect that other Queens have had?"

"I think you desire almost nothing else than pleasure," Mary responded coldly. "It pleases you, it seems, to do nothing but wear pretty clothes and dance. Some people may think that frivolous, in the consort of a King whose flesh is also sacred." She hoped that Katherine would be bright enough to realize that Mary would not respect a frivolous queen.

"If His Majesty thought me only frivolous, why did he marry me?" Katherine responded smugly.

"You are thought capable of bearing sons," Mary said slowly and condescendingly, her hands resting on her own stomach, which she prayed held a son of her own. "Unfortunately, for all the King's attentions, I see you are still not pregnant? In any case, he will soon tire of you. You'll see."

Katherine paused for a moment before taking a few steps forward. "And what about you?" Katherine asked.

"And what about me?" Mary retorted.

"I think your jealous," Katherine said triumphantly. "You're jealous because your father loves me more that he loves you. His Majesty spoils me with presents, while your husband is nothing more than a newly-created Duke. You're nothing more than a royal bastard." She turned back to her ladies-in-waiting for support in her triumph, which they happily supplied.

"How dare you speak to me like that," Mary replied. It hurt, because Mary knew that it was true. She was still a bastard of the King. Her father had only agreed to let her be wed because he needed to secure and alliance with the German states. Mary was still almost certain that her father preferred Amelia to her, and that silly little girl above both of them.

"I dare because I can," Katherine replied, moving close to Mary. She turned to look at the collection of maids standing behind the woman, who all suddenly cast their eyes down. "And, I can do something else, too!" Katherine exclaimed, an idea forming in her head. "As punishment for your lack of respect, towards His Majesty's wife, I am removing two of your maids from your service. A good day to you, Lady Mary."

With that, Katherine and her ladies turned and strode confidently out the door, giggling and smiling as they went.

* * *

When Philip returned to the apartments he shared with Mary in the palace that evening, he found his wife packing all of their things into trunks. "Mary, mein frau, what is going on?" he asked softly as he approached her, a look of concern washing over his face.

"We're going to Hunsdon," Mary responded. "It's a house that I've lived in for many years, and that I have decided to continue to live in."

"Have you asked His Majesty's permission to leave court?" he called as she went to get more of their things. He paused. "Come to think of it, I don't think that we've even discussed this yet. Why are we leaving?"

"Haven't you heard?" Mary responded angrily. "She has removed two of my maids."

"The Queen?" Philip asked cautiously, seeking only confirmation, not confrontation.

"Apparently, I don't treat her with sufficient respect," Mary responded.

"Mary," Philip said, taking a few steps towards her to rest his hands on her shoulders. "Please, calm down. The stress is not good for the baby."

She paused, and sighed deeply. "I keep forgetting that I have a baby to think about now," Mary whispered.

"Just listen to me for a moment," Philip said. "If you could find some small means to conciliate the Queen, then the maids would probably be allowed to remain in your service."

"No," Mary responded, her voice firm. "Why should I? I don't want to conciliate her!"

Tears began to fall from her eyes before Mary could stop them, and Philip pulled his wife into his chest, wrapping one arm around her waist and using the other hand to stroke her hair. "What did she say to you?" he asked her in a whisper.

"She said that I am jealous of her," Mary whispered back. "Because my father showers her with love and affection, yet he does not do the same to me, his own daughter. I'm still nothing more than a royal bastard, whether I am married to a Duke or not."

"Shhh…" Philip whispered. "She ought not to have said such things."

"No, but they're true!" Mary sobbed.

"You know that it's not true," Philip told her. "And even if it was, everyone else who really matters to the King loves you. Amelia, Elizabeth, and Edward adore you. The Duke of Suffolk speaks of you as if you were his own sister. Your nieces and nephews get so excited whenever they see you. My dear cousin has always spoken highly of you." He lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "But most importantly, Mary, I love you more than anyone in this world. You are not jealous of Katherine. Katherine is jealous of you. The love that the King bears her could never compare to the love that I bear you."

* * *

15 March 1541

"Mama, what's wrong?" a voice asked.

The voice brought Amelia out of her own thoughts and back into the real world. She had been sitting on a seat by the window for a few hours now, absently staring at the rain that was lightly falling.

It was Elizabeth who had spoken. Both she and Edward had taken to calling her "mama," and Amelia couldn't find it in her heard to correct them. She felt like they were both her own children, even if they were actually her siblings, and treated them the same as she treated her own siblings.

Eleanor was standing next to Elizabeth, grasping her hand, just as if they were sisters.

"His Majesty is very ill, girls," Amelia responded. "He has an ulcer in his leg, and I am afraid that it is bothering him again. The physicians are doing all that they can, although I cannot help but continue to worry, as I always will, for His Majesty's health and safety."

Both girls nodded.

"There is another thing," Amelia added. "Something that I was just told about recently." At this moment, Amelia really hated herself. Elizabeth was only seven years old, yet she needed to ask her about a decision that she herself had barely been comfortable with. Naturally, she had made a good choice, and the contract that her own son had been entered into held a clause that stated he could easily refuse, but Elizabeth was different. She was the daughter of a king. "Elizabeth, how do you feel about marriage?"


	37. Natural Ally

**A/N: In real life, Henry Howard was the oldest son of Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk. He was the first cousin of both Anne Boleyn, through his aunt, Elizabeth Howard, and Catherine Howard, through his uncle, Edmund Howard. Henry was born in 1517, which would make him the same age as Amelia, even though the show portrays him as being much older. Henry married Frances de Vere and had five children.**

 **Charles II de Valois was the Duke of Orléans and the third son of King Francis I and Queen Claude of France. He was born on 22 January 1522. Historical accounts tell us that Charles was blind in one eye, extravagant, frivolous, and a wild and practical joker. He was much more popular at court than his older brother, Henry, who went on to become King. Charles was unmarried and died in 1545, most likely from the plague.**

* * *

"And what if I refuse, father?" Charles told his father, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Francis sighed, and looked down at his youngest son, then to his wife who sat next to him, and then back at his son. "Really?" he asked. "Why would you do that? The Lady Elizabeth is a beautiful girl who will surely only get more beautiful once she is of age."

"So you want us to wed as soon as she is twelve years of age?" Charles asked with disgust. "She would only be a child!"

Francis sighed once again. "King Henry would not allow his daughter to be married before she was at least sixteen years of age," he responded. "All I ask is that you frame your mind towards an English match with the Lady Elizabeth, at least while we are still at war with the Emperor."

* * *

10 June 1541

Mary's biggest dream had finally come true. It was amazing to think that last year, she had believed that there was no hope for herself, that she would grow to be an old spinster and maid, but here she was, holding a baby in her arms.

Of course, the moment was not exactly perfect. Mary still felt fear weigh on her heart. The baby that she held was a baby girl, not the male heir that she thought her husband would be looking for. Philip, of course, had assured her time and time again that he was not angry or upset with her. How could he be upset with a baby that had her mother's eyes?

But Mary still felt fear. More than once, she had watched her father cast aside a wife because she could not produce a male heir. One such wife had been her own mother. Catherine had had horrible luck. Only Mary and Amelia had survived to adulthood. Catherine had had sons, but none of them had survived to see their first birthday. What if Mary had inherited her mother's luck?

Both Philip and Amelia, by the letter she had sent her sister, told Mary that she wouldn't have the same luck that her mother did, but Mary still couldn't find herself believing it.

They eventually decided to name their daughter Margaret, after Philip's grandmother, hoping that their luck would track with Philip's family, not Mary's.

* * *

20 July 1541

"Do you know who died here, in this castle?" Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey, asked, turning to speak to Charles.

Charles turned his attention from the boisterous young men at the end of the table to the man sitting next to him. "Plenty, I suspect," he replied, not entirely interested in hearing what the Earl had to say.

"No, important men," Henry clarified.

"No," said Charles. He didn't care much for the Earl, who believed that those who were born noble should be the only ones given titles of nobility. Charles himself was a descendant of commoners.

"Richard II died here after he was deposed," Henry informed him. "He was thirty-three years of age. They kept him here as a prisoner. They starved him to death."

"Poor ghost," Charles said, feeling a hint of sadness over the dead man.

"He made the mistake of favoring lesser men over greater ones," Henry said, his voice raising. "For such mean creatures, they're determined not just to usurp the nobility, but to destroy us altogether."

Charles turned to look at the men laughing at the other end of the table. "Sometimes, My Lord, it may be so," he agreed, reluctantly. "But surely the King is right were he gives offices and dignities to those who have the right qualities?"

"No, those men that are made by the King of vile birth have been the distraction of all the nobility of this realm," Henry said. "And if God calls away the King, they will suffer for it."

"My Lord, be careful not to wish the King's life away," Charles said in a low voice. "That is treason."

Henry simply scoffed, and took a gulp of wine. There was silence for a moment before Henry changed the subject. "They tell me that you have children, Your Grace," he said.

Charles nodded. "I do, My Lord," he responded. "Three sons and two daughters. My wife and I are very lucky."

"They also say that your wife is the daughter of His Majesty and that late Catherine of Aragon, is she not?" Henry pried further.

Charles again nodded, this time saying nothing. He did not like where he thought this conversation was heading.

"Then perhaps we could arrange a marriage between our two families," Henry suggested. "Your oldest son to my oldest daughter, or your oldest daughter to my oldest son?" Noble blood obviously flowed through the veins of the Duke's children, and Henry was eager to ensure that his children all found noble matches.

"Unfortunately, my oldest son has already been entered into a contract," Charles said, masking his relief. "And my daughter Eleanor is not yet four years old. My wife would have me wait until she was older." He stood from the table, and nodded his head in the Earl's direction. "I am afraid that it is getting late, My Lord. I do believe I shall retire." And with that, Charles left the feast.

It was no secret that the King was getting older. One could see it in the way that he stood, or the way that he walked. Charles was getting older as well. Soon, they would both be nothing but a couple of old men. This also meant that people saw an opportunity to gain power. After Charles died, there would be many men looking for Amelia's hand. Those who controlled the daughter of the King had a chance at the throne. There would also be those looking to marry their children off to the grandchildren of the King, in hopes that they would one day bring their families to power.

Charles really hated it when his family was seen as nothing more than political pawns.

* * *

5 August 1541

Mary felt elated as she strode out of the castle, holding her infant daughter in her arms. The people of Lincolnshire cheered for her as she walked towards the platform. It was unlike any reception that she had ever received in London. Even Philip, who walked beside her, noticed how much the people in the North really adored her, and how her stride was much more regal and confident than it had ever been before.

"I want you to say a prayer for His Grace, the King's Majesty," she said, her voice strong and confident. "We pray for His Majesty's long and blessed reign, and for his good health, in the name of the Blessed Virgin, whose only son died in agony for our sins. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I bless all of you." She paused for a second, taking in the scene in front of her. "All shall be well. All manner of things shall be well. Benedictus deus." The last part was as much for her as it was for the people, reassuring herself that everything would be alright.

The people cheered loudly, and Mary smiled kindly at them. Henry looked at her as if he had finally seen his daughter for the first time. She was gracious, and she was adored by the people. If she had a son, perhaps an attempt to legitimize her and Amelia again could be made.

* * *

23 October 1541

Panic gripped Amelia as she felt Edward's forehead. He was sweaty and feverish. This was not a good sign. It was not a good sign at all.

"Clemence!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the empty halls of Westhorpe. "Clemence, come quickly!"

The older woman appeared in the doorway, gasping when she saw the young prince. "I shall write to my Lord Hertford right away, Madam," she said after taking only one look at Edward.

Amelia nodded in appreciation as Clemence took off. Her hands went to Edward's forehead again, and she could feel tears begin to fall from her eyes as she held him. Edward was her father's only viable heir. If he was lost, then they were all lost.

* * *

"What is it?" Edward Seymour asked the physician who was standing by his nephew's bedside. Amelia was still dabbing the boy's forehead with a wet cloth, her eyes puffy and red, even though she had not shed tears in hours.

"Some kind of tertiary fever, my Lord Hertford," the physician responded.

"Is he in danger?" Edward questioned. The physician did not respond right away. "Is his life in danger? Answer me!" Edward demanded.

"If the fever persists, then perhaps," the physician replied. "We so have some remedies, My Lord."

"Do not tell the King," Edward said, mainly to himself. "If he felt obliged to curtain his progress and hurry back, only to find the Prince quite recovered…" he trailed off. "Apply your remedies, for God's sake, and for the sake of peace in this realm, don't let him die."

Edward turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, stopping in the hallway to lean against the wall. His nephew, the last thing that he had to remind him of his sister, was ill, and lying there in a bed, potentially close to dying. In that moment, the boy was not the Prince of Wales, but his nephew, his dear nephew.

Amelia followed soon after, an angry expression on her face and tears falling from her eyes. A string of words in a foreign language flew from her mouth as she started to walk. She stopped short when she saw Edward, gasping. "My Lord Hertford," she said, bowing her head to him. "Forgive me. I thought that you had left."

"I cannot leave, Madam," Edward replied. "My nephew is all I have left to remind me of my departed sister."

"I sometimes forget that he is not my own child," Amelia admitted softly. "He knows I am not his mother, and I know that he is not my son, yet he calls me 'mama,' and I treat him as though he was mine." She met Edward's eyes. "So you can see, that when the physician tells me that I am not allowed to see him treat the Prince, due to my delicate sensibilities, I am outraged."

Edward smiled. "It is not something to be ashamed of, Madam," he said. "You bear great love for all of your family, as I do mine. I, too, would not appreciate it if a physician banned me from the room."

Amelia silently thanked Edward for understanding, then directed him to a chamber where he was free to spend the night.

* * *

24 October 1541

The next morning, the prince was no better. Edward slammed his fist down on the foot of the bed, frustrated. Amelia, still not allowed into the room, was standing just outside as he turned on his heel and left.

"How is he?" she asked in a quiet voice. It was clear to Edward that Amelia had gotten no sleep the previous night. Her face was tired, and the bags under her eyes made her appear much older than she actually was.

"I shall send a messenger to His Majesty straight away," Edward answered gravely. "You should get some sleep, Madam."

"I will not rest until my brother is well again," Amelia vowed.

* * *

25 October 1541

Henry rode all through the afternoon and the following morning, anxious over the condition of his son. When he arrived at Westhorpe, it was clear that the stress and anxiety was beginning to get to him.

He cried over his son, cradling him to his chest and rocking him gently, before lowering the boy once again to the bed and kissing his forehead. There was still a chance that his son would recover. It was reminiscent of the sons that he had had previously, all of them having died young. It was a curse.

Amelia had finally been allowed back into Edward's chambers, and she dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth. She and her father sat in complete silence. Weariness was evident on Amelia's face as she worked, and Henry admired her for it. He had been so wrapped up in his young wife, that he had neglected his middle daughter. She cared deeply about her younger siblings, as well as her own children, that was true. She was kind and caring, just as her mother had been.

He vowed to make up for his neglect.

* * *

The Prince's fever broke that night, much to the delight of the people who surrounded him. The King called for a special mass, held on the first day of November, All Saints' Day, to thank God for his son, daughters, and wife. Little did he know, that day would be the end of his happy marriage to Katherine.


	38. Bottom of the Pot

**A/N: There have been many speculations about Thomas Culpeper and his affair with Katherine Howard. It is suspected that he flirted with her for political reasons. If she believed that they were in love, then she would have most likely shown him favor had Henry died. Keep in mind, Henry was much sicker than the show lets on. Much heavier, too.**

 **I like throwing wrenches in history. Let's keep on doing that.**

* * *

13 November 1541

"Certain accusations have been made against the Queen," Henry told Charles one day as they played cards.

"What kind of accusations?" Charles asked.

"Oh, that she was light, immoral, dissolute…" he trailed off. "With certain men, before she came to court."

Charles looked at him, an almost pitying expression on his face.

"I can't believe it to be true," Henry replied, shuffling the cards in his hands. "But, since the accusations are made, I must know all the facts." The king leaned forward, his voice lowering. "But since this inquisition is in progress, be careful who you speak to. I'll have no spark of scandal against her name."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles replied automatically.

* * *

"I have news," Charles told Amelia as they sat down to sup. "The Queen is being investigated for things that she did in her youth."

Amelia simply raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me that a teenager is being investigated for things that she did in her youth, during which she had no parental figures or guidance?"

"What are you trying to say?" Charles asked.

Amelia sighed. "She didn't have anyone to look up to when she was younger," Amelia said. "And she's still young. With the number of children that the Dowager Duchess has in her care, I wouldn't be surprised if one or two of them did something regrettable. I pity Katherine. I don't think she entirely knows what she is doing."

"Were you raised as the Queen was raised?" Charles asked, picking at the food on his plate.

Amelia set her fork down and gave her husband a stern look. "I was not raised as she was," she stated. "She was raised by older girls and boys. I was still raised to be a lady. I was ignored, yes, but the moment I stepped out of line, the Dowager made sure to put me back in my place. What I'm saying is that it does not appear that Katherine had any form of discipline like that, whatsoever."

"And you feel pity for her," Charles concluded.

"Exactly," Amelia said. "She was undisciplined from the very beginning, and now, her lack of discipline threatens to destroy her."

* * *

22 November 1541

Amelia's heart broke when she heard that Katherine had been removed as Queen, and she felt especially guilty over this fact when she realized she was also happy. Katherine had gotten what she deserved, a voice said in her head. She was foolish, frivolous, and stupid. She did not deserve the title of Queen, or the duties and responsibilities that came with it.

But on the other hand, she was a child. Anne Boleyn had been a full-grown, adult woman, capable of knowing exactly what she was doing. Katherine was now. When Amelia was sixteen, she had almost no idea what she was doing. She was a naïve, innocent child. But Amelia was older now. She knew that everything she did would be under scrutiny. Sometimes, she knew that it was better to say nothing at all. Katherine simply hadn't known that there were very few people that one could place their trust in

Amelia knew that there were people she could trust without any doubts. Mary was one of them. Charles was another. Edward Seymour, surprisingly, was a third. They had bonded over a mutual love for the little Prince. He knew that she was the best person to care for the boy, and she knew that he would look out for his nephew's best interests.

What kind of world did she live in, where she couldn't even place her trust in her own father?

* * *

29 November 1541

From what Amelia heard from Charles, the accusations seemed to move in a circle. Katherine blamed Jane Rochford for the whole thing, Thomas blamed Katherine, and Jane to an extent, while Jane blamed the both of them.

Amelia wasn't sure she knew exactly who to believe. Honestly, it could really be anyone's fault. She wondered exactly how Jane and Thomas got tangled up in this mess. Amelia had known Jane for a while. They had both been victims of the Boleyn family's plays to stay in power.

Thomas, on the other hand, was someone that Amelia tried to avoid. Amelia had met him shortly after her arrival at court, just as he was beginning to come into the King's favor. She had found him charming and pleasant enough, but with a lecherous stare that made her feel as though she was not fully clothed. She had again run into him when she and Charles had gone to greet Anne of Cleves, as he was one of the courtiers selected to come along. Even though she was married, it seemed as though Thomas was very insistent on flirting with her. After that, at some point, he had been accused of rape and murder, which made Amelia go out of her way to avoid him.

She hoped he'd rot in hell, or, at the very least, suffer a painful end.

* * *

18 January 1542

He felt numb, sitting in his chair by the fire. One moment, his wife was there, pregnant, carrying his child. Now, his child was in his arms, and his wife was gone. It was painful to think about. Three days ago, they had welcomed their son, Thomas, into the world. Everything had seemed well, even if things were tense between them. He thought that he might have loved her when they had first been married, but after a while, the spark just seemed to fade away.

Then, Sir Francis had come, and Edward had realized that his wife preferred the spy's company. It was around this time that he realized he loved his wife more as a friend than as a lover. Marriage, he thought, should be both.

In fact, he still wasn't sure that the baby he held was his. But, since Anne hadn't told him anything, not even with her last breaths, Edward was left to assume that Thomas was his son.

And now he sat here, with his three-day-old son, wondering what he should do.

A soft knock on his chamber door startled him, and he turned to see both Amelia and Charles entering. He bowed his head to them, and they bowed their heads back.

"We came to offer our condolences," Charles said, a solemn expression on his face.

Condolences. More condolences. It was the same when his sister had died. She had died the same way, too. It seemed unfair that every woman in his life that seemed important to him, save for his dear mother, seemed to have died from childbed fever.

"May I hold your son?" Amelia asked softly.

Edward looked surprised, but agreed. Amelia took the baby from his arms, gently lifting him, and cooing ever so lightly. After five children of her own, and two siblings, to look after, Edward knew that Amelia would be able to handle a baby, but unlike some other women he had encountered, she did it with a certain skill that he had not expected.

"He is a beautiful and healthy little boy," Amelia said. "Anne would be very proud."

"Would you act as his governess?" Edward blurted out before he could stop himself. The two adults snapped their heads towards him. "I mean, I know so little about raising children, and I figure have done an amazing job raising my nephew, so…"

It took Amelia a few seconds to overcome her shock. "You want me to act as a surrogate mother?" she asked in clarification.

"If your husband would allow it, of course," Edward said. "And if you were willing yourself."

Amelia didn't know why, but she found herself nodding.

Edward didn't know why, but he felt his heart leaping at her agreement.

Charles didn't know why, but he agreed as well. Perhaps it was out of pity. Perhaps it was because he considered Edward an ally. Either way, it seemed there would be one more child in his household.

* * *

13 February 1542

Katherine was dead, executed that very morning. Edward had come by afterwards to visit his son and nephew, and wound up telling Amelia all about it. Amelia was surprised that Katherine had handled her execution with all the grace that a queen would, despite only being eighteen years old.

Baby Thomas had been widely accepted by the Brandon household. All of the children loved him dearly, as if he were their own sibling. Edward made sure to visit them all frequently, since all the children loved their Uncle Edward as well.

Edward had begun to visit more frequently, bringing with him gifts for all the children of the household. Mary and John treasured the new books that they had been given, while Owen and Edward got wooden swords and Eleanor and Jane had both gotten dolls.

The King, as far as Amelia knew, had not yet started looking for a new wife. She was grateful for this. When Henry had married Jane soon after Anne's death, Amelia had felt that the wedding had happened too quickly. It would be good to have the nation recover from the loss of their Queen before the King moved on to his next one.

Mary had come by with Philip and Margaret, and Amelia had cooed over the precious little girl. It was obvious that both Mary and Philip were completely in love with their daughter, although it seemed to Amelia that Mary seemed still slightly uncomfortable with the fact that she had a daughter and not a son.

War was on the King's mind, and Amelia knew it. She just hoped that it wouldn't come anytime soon.


	39. You Have My Permission

**A/N: The show seems to skew ages just a tiny bit. In 1542, Catherin Parr was thirty years old, and Elizabeth was nine. Also, Mary and Elizabeth were not restored to the line of Succession until after Catherin and Henry were married. Even so, they were never legitimized and retained their bastard status, which led to some difficulties later down the road. The change in succession will not be recognized until later in the story.**

* * *

25 December 1542

Mary had been delighted to host the Christmastide festivities. She had gotten much better over the past few months, and now seemed happier and healthier than she had been before. She was pregnant for a second time, and positively glowing. She was maybe four or five months along, just far enough to begin wearing looser dresses.

Philip stood by his wife's side as they greeted guests, proud of all the work that she had put into organizing the celebrations. It seemed that every time he attended an event with Mary, he grew more and more in awe of the grace that she handled herself with, particularly when saddled with figures whom she didn't like.

Mary greeted Catherin Parr with a wide smile. "How is Lord Latimer?" she asked.

"No better," Catherin replied, shaking her head. "He did not feel strong enough to come to court."

"We are so sad for him," Mary said, linking her arm with her husband's. "And for you. We pray for both of you."

"I thank you for that," Catherin told her. "I will give him the good wishes from you and your husband both, and we shall pray for your family as well. Happy Christmas to both of you."

"Happy Christmas, Lady Catherin," Philip responded for both him and Mary, smiling as he did.

As Catherin went to go greet others, Mary turned to look up at her husband. "I do feel rather sad for the Lady Latimer," she said softly. "Her first husband, gone after three years. And now, the Lord Latimer, I fear, will soon be gone as well."

"It cannot be all that bad for the Lady Latimer in the future," Philip whispered in response. He pointed to Thomas Seymour, who had been looking at Catherin the entire time. "I do believe that the Lord Sudeley is quite taken with her."

"You think so?" Mary asked, a smile playing on her lips.

"As taken as I am with you," Philip replied, gently kissing Mary as she giggled.

"His Excellency, the French Ambassador," the herald announced, shattering the moment between Philip and Mary.

"Excellence," Mary and Philip both greeted warmly.

"Lady Mary, Your Grace," Charles de Marillac responded, kissing Mary's hand. "Enchanté. Je persiste à penser que vous auriez fait une éspouse parfaite pour le duc d'Orléans, mais je coris que vous aves trouvé un excellent match dans le duc de Bavière." _I persist in thinking you would have made a perfect bride for the Duke of Orléans, but I believe you have found a most excellent match in the Duke of Bavaria._

"Je suis honoré que vous croyez," Mary responded. "Peut-être ma sœur, Elizabeth, fera un meilleur match pour le duc que je ne." _I am honored that you think so. Perhaps my sister, Elizabeth, shall make a better match for the Duke than I._

"Je peux seulement espérer," the ambassador replied.

* * *

Normally, Amelia would have advocated for Christmastide at Westhorpe. It was quiet and peaceful there, without all the loud people that seemed to populate court. Charles had returned to Suffolk after Katherine's execution, and decided to stay there. Whenever Edward came to visit his son, he would bring all the news that Charles needed to hear.

After they had been separated for so long, it was a bit awkward at first. It took a while for Charles and Amelia to get accustomed to being around each other again. Eventually, they fell back into their comfortable patterns, and acted like they were newlyweds once again. The passionate spark that seemed to have disappeared came back in full force.

Which was why Amelia found herself pregnant for the seventh time. Since she was nearly seven months along, she had attempted to have Christmastide at home. However, since Edward was expected to perform his first public duties, Amelia felt the need to be there to guide him.

As soon as Edward heard his name announced, he ran forward, followed by Elizabeth, John, Owen, and Eleanor, who Amelia felt were all old enough to attend Christmas at court. Sighing, Edward Seymour, who stood by her side, offered her his arm, which she accepted, and led her out into the hall.

Edward took the younger Edward's hand, and turned to the three Scottish lords in front of him. "My Lords, may I present His Grace, Prince Edward," Edward said.

"My Lords," the little Prince said, bowing. Amelia smiled widely, her heart filling with pride.

"Your Grace," the Lords said, bowing to him.

"You are most welcome to His Majesty's court at this Christmas time," Edward said.

"Your Grace is very kind to speak to us in person," one of the Lords said.

"I have been practicing," Edward replied triumphantly.

"Well done," Amelia whispered, leaning down to speak in her brother's ear. "You've done a very good job, Your Grace. You may go and play now."

"Thank you, mama," Edward responded, before running off to play with the other children.

"My Lords, the King has a proposal to put to you," the elder Edward said, turning back to business. "There should be a peace treaty between our countries, and a formal betrothal between Prince Edward and the newly born Princess Mary of Scots."

There was a pause in the conversation. Amelia herself was startled by this news. First, the King considered marriage for Elizabeth, and now Edward?

"The King is not unaware of any possible difficulties," Edward continued. "Which is why, if you support the cause, you will be rewarded with a handsome pension, and will be released at once to return to Scotland. I'm sure your families are missing you greatly at this time of year. I know that I dearly miss my wife, Anne, may God rest her soul."

"And I know how I would feel, if I could not have my wife by my side," a voice interjected. The five adults turned to see Charles standing nearby. "If I could steal the Duchess for a bit, My Lord Hertford?"

Edward smiled. "Of course, Your Grace," he responded graciously.

Amelia smiled and bid farewell to Edward and the Scottish lords before taking her husband's arm. "The Prince did wonderfully," Amelia whispered as Charles led her towards her sister. "He really is growing to be a proper young man."

"Your Graces," Mary exclaimed when Charles and Amelia neared her. "Welcome back to court. It has been a while. Look at you, sister!" Mary marveled at the size of her sister's belly.

"And look at you, sister!" Amelia responded. "I trust Margaret is soon to have a sibling. What would our mother say about us?"

A sad smile came across Mary's face. "I think she would be proud of us," she said softly. "I think that she would love our husbands, and all of her grandchildren." She paused. "As for our father, he has been melancholy. I think he despairs of finding any happiness in this life, although he has recently come into a better mood."

"Could it be that he has taken a mistress?" Amelia asked, almost afraid of another Katherine Howard.

"Perhaps it is simply his recent victory in Scotland," Charles answered.

Philip nodded in agreement. "The servants, or at least the ones who do not yet recognize me, talk," he told them. "But there has been no talk of a mistress, or a wife, or anything of the sort."

The King entered in that moment, wishing everyone a happy Christmas. Mary and Philip went to take their seats by the King, while Amelia and Charles blended in with the crowd. Amelia eventually found Lady Latimer, with whom she had spoken to once before, and decided to welcome her back to court. They watched the acrobats together with glee as they performed flips and jumps all down the hall.

"How have you been, Lady Latimer?" Amelia asked.

"I have been well, Madam," Catherin responded. "But, alas, my husband grows ever unwell."

"I am sorry to hear that," Amelia said, concern flooding her features. "I pray for your husband's health to return."

"Thank you, madam," Catherine replied. "And I shall pray for the safe delivery of your child."

Amelia prayed for that as well.

* * *

"You've been a long time absent from court, Your Grace," Henry said, not bothering to look at Charles as he spoke.

"Only to tend to my estates, Your Majesty," Charles replied.

"Your estates, or your wife?" Henry asked, turning to look at his friend.

Charles smiled. "Both, I suppose," he responded. "My wife and I missed each other dearly."

"I rather though you'd been careful of me," the King said. "You imagine I'm still angry with you." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You can be too careful, Your Grace. It is very remiss of you to neglect your sovereign for so long. Although, I suppose I can make an exception for Amelia."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles replied.

"Anyway, I want you to do something for me," Henry said, before launching into his plans for a secret alliance with Spain.

* * *

28 January 1543

"A peace treaty that leads to war?" Amelia asked as they sat by the fire. Her hands stroked her stomach lazily as she thought. "Is that not contradictory?"

Charles smiled. "I suppose it is," he replied. "But the war is set to take place in the next two years. There is still time for the treaty to become void. With the way that France and the Emperor are, the treaty could very easily break."

"But this is the King we are talking about," Amelia insisted. "You know how he has been hungering for war. I think if it were not for the death of King James, we would be at war with Scotland right now."

She was right, and Charles knew it. The French had barely given any reason for war. The seizures of ships at ports had been because of illegal smuggling and suspicion of piracy. The King was hungering for war, and the nation was likely to pay for it.

However, the following month, when the King held a dinner, Amelia held her tongue as the war was talked about, and Charles found it was simply best to agree.

* * *

5 March 1543

Lord Latimer had passed three days earlier. Amelia mourned his death, not only because she later found out that he was once a candidate for her hand in marriage, but because it meant something that Catherin had confided in her that she feared. With Lord Latimer gone, it was not possible for Henry to ask for Catherin's hand in marriage. And Catherin felt that if the King asked, there was no way she could possibly say no.

It was also on this day that Amelia welcomed her sixth child into the world, a squalling babe that they decided to name Philippa. Charles had been nearby the whole time, which had made Amelia feel stronger. He got to hold Philippa after she was born, something that he hadn't been able to do in the past, and his eyes lit up with joy as he held his youngest daughter for the first time.

"She's... perfect," he had whispered in awe. As soon as Charles had lifted her up, she had ceased crying, and instead stared at him with wide blue eyes.

"All of our children are," Amelia whispered back, a smile on her face. A feeling of dread pushed into her brain as she began to think about the fact that there would now be nine children under the age of ten all living under one roof, but she quickly pushed those thoughts aside, and instead opted to focus on the perfect moment that she was sharing with her husband and daughter.


	40. Sixth and the Final Wife

**A/N: Wow. I can't believe that the end of this story is almost here.**

* * *

2 May 1543

This day was significant for two big reasons.

First, it was Amelia's birthday. On this day, she always spent most of her time in deep reflection of how her life had gone.

It was now ten years since she had returned to court, ten years since she had last been in the Netherlands. Ten years since Amelia had married Charles, as well. Ten long, lovely years together. They had had their ups and downs, of course. Charles admitted that he was still haunted by the things he had done during the Pilgrimage of Grace. Most recently, he had admitted that he had seen the ghost of Lord Darcy. That had greatly frightened her husband, and she thought that the incident had caused him to begin to think of his own mortality.

Today was a rather happy occasion. Since the sun was shining brightly outside, Amelia had allowed her children to take the day off from their lessons to run and play outside. Generally, this was frowned upon in English society. Someone with tanned skin meant that they were laborers, who spent most of their time toiling in the hot sun. Pale skin was desirable, because it meant you could afford not to be a laborer. However, on a day as beautiful as this, Amelia believed that the children could spare a day.

The second day of May was also the day that Mary's second child was born. She felt that she was fortunate to give birth to a healthy baby, but it was still not the son that she had hoped for. Margaret was excited to have a little sister. Annis, Mary had decided to name her. She admitted to herself that she still loved her two daughters, and that she would one day give her husband the sons that he deserved.

Of course, Philip wanted a son. Every man in every European society wanted a son to pass on their title and riches to. But he wasn't yet concerned, as some men would be, over his wife's ability to bear sons. They had not been married for long, and they were both still young. Besides, his daughters were beautiful. He could see so much of their mother in them, and he knew that one day, they would grow to be poised and refined, just as Mary was.

* * *

1 July 1543

There were some peace treaties that Amelia simply did not agree with. One, for example, would be the treaty that had promised her to the Prince of Denmark. It had caused her to be sent away from her family, and then prevented her from coming back. Another would be the "peace" treaty recently signed that asked for war between England and France.

The third was one that had been signed only today. The Treaty of Greenwich had been hailed as the one that would finally bring England and Scotland under one crown. It promised that Mary, Queen of Scots, who was only six months old, would one day marry the little Prince Edward, who was not yet six years old. Granted, they were both royals, but they were both so young.

Her father was also something she was concerned about. His behavior seemed to be more erratic and wild. He was demanding war with France, craving it. There was no way that a war with France would bring with it any good, however. Maybe the King would gain some more territory, but the cost would be too great, especially considering that her husband had just been named one of the commanders.

* * *

14 July 1543

Just two days after the King and Catherin had been wed, Amelia heard the good news that she, her sisters, and her children, had all been restored to the line of succession. Of course, they were all behind any children that Edward and Mary would potentially have in the future, but it still felt good to finally be recognized once again as an heir to the throne. It did not, however, re-legitimize the three sisters, which Amelia feared might cause trouble down the road.

* * *

9 September 1543

Mary was now Queen of Scots, and no longer betrothed to Edward. It was the King's behavior, Charles had told Amelia. He had attempted to get the Treaty to change and bring Mary to court long before she was due to be married. Henry had also attempted to get the Scots to break their alliance with the French, which the Scots would not do, because England was soon to war with France. The Scots, naturally, had disagreed.

* * *

3 January 1544

"His Highness, the Duke of Nájera," the herald announced.

Amelia and Mary stood next to the Queen, keeping their faces as neutral and diplomatic as possible. The Duke strode down the aisle with confidence, eyeing the three women in front of him with great interest. These women were the most important women to the King, he knew. It was an honor to be greeted by them.

He greeted the Queen warmly, with a kiss to the back of her hand. He was then greeted by Amelia and Mary, who both offered their hands as well.

"Alteza," Mary said. "Es un gran privilegio y un placer darle la bienvenida a la corte de nuestro padre." _Highness, it is such a great privilege and pleasure to welcome you to the court of our father._

"Aquí todo el mundo sabe de su gran renombre como un general de las fuerzas del Emperador," Amelia continued. _Everyone here knows of your great renown as a general of the Emperor's forces._

The Duke looked surprised. "¿Ustedes hablan español, mis señoras?" he asked. _You speak Spanish, my Ladies?_

"Sí, señor. Un poco," Mary responded. "Amelia habla más que yo. ¿No somos hijas de nuestra madre?" _Yes, a little. Amelia speaks more than I. Are we not our mother's daughters?_

The Duke could not disagree.

* * *

6 March 1544

Amelia really hated the training camp that her husband had decided to set up in the fields that surrounded their estates. Now, instead of the peace that she adored, there was the constant sound of guns firing, and men shouting late into the night. Prostitutes had taken up residence in another nearby field, hoping to entertain the lonely men that came to visit.

Charles had set up quarters for some of the other noble men that came to visit. Amelia would not have minded, had they not been in her own home. She now insisted that certain portions of the hall be set aside for Amelia and the children, and Charles agreed. Amelia did not want her children, or the other children she raised, to be exposed to the loud, horrific men that came through her husband's training camp.

She had sent Edward to London to meet the Queen. Catherin had sent her own guards and ladies to escort the young prince. It was the first time that Amelia herself had not accompanied Edward. In truth, she was slightly grateful. If she went to London, all of the children in her care would have to make the journey too.

When Edward returned, he brought Edward Seymour with him. Amelia was glad to see someone who she belived was just as against this war as she was. "How is His Majesty?" was the first thing that she asked him.

"His Majesty is well," Edward said. "Although, he is still eager to fight a war with France."

Amelia began pacing, wringing her hands as she walked. "The whole thing just puts me on edge," she said softly. "It's as though we are isolating all those who could be our allies. Like Scotland. I would consider them more a natural ally than France. We share an island with Scotland. We should be able to get along."

"But we cannot," Edward argued. "For as long as the Scots are independent, they will want to take land from England."

"Do you not think that the Scots use the same argument about us?" Amelia retorted. "It would be possible to live in peace and harmony, and to exchange land with diplomacy rather than war. I'm sure that the regent Queen would not want to lose her people to war."

Edward paused. "Perhaps you are right," he finally agreed. "But now, our war is with France."

* * *

3 July 1544

Amelia knew that something was wrong when Charles came home that night. He appeared older, it seemed, more weathered and weary. He sat by the fire, a goblet of wine in his hand, simply staring at the flames. Amelia approached him quietly, and placed her hands gently on his shoulders. Startled, he had turned to look up at her, before turning back to the flames and reaching one hand up to cover hers.

"What's happened, Charles?" she asked softly. "What's going on?"

He sighed deeply. "In four days' time, we set sail for France," he replied quietly. "We go to reclaim what is ours."

"I know that you cannot refuse the King, but it still will not stop me from asking you not to go," Amelia said.

"It's not just a war, sweetheart," Charles said. "It's an effort to reclaim my youth, which now seems to evade me."

Amelia scoffed. "Men are not supposed to stay young forever, Charles," Amelia replied. "At one point, all men must grow old. Women, if they survive their younger years, must grow old as well. It is as God intends it to be, my love."

They were silent for a moment, simply staring at the flames. "When did I grow so old?" Charles asked.

Amelia smiled. "To me, you have always been old," she replied softly. "But, your heart and soul are young."

They continued in their silence, neither one really knowing what to say to the other. Amelia could understand why Charles wanted to go to war, even though she still disagreed with it. Charles was simply thankful that Amelia was still by his side, even after all of the horrible things that he believed he had done over the years. Both hated saying good-bye.

* * *

10 July 1544

It was just a few days after Charles's departure that Clemence took to her bed and never woke again. Amelia was devastated to lose a woman whom she had considered to be a dear friend, and one who had been a great help with raising all of the children. It was now just Amelia and all of the children living in Westhorpe. She missed Charles already.

* * *

5 August 1544

He didn't know what it was about her, but something about the strange French woman reminded him of Amelia. Perhaps it was her spirit. She was a strong individual, just like his wife. She hadn't been afraid of Charles, only angry. This both amused and confused him greatly. She had even told him that what was once his was not necessarily available for him to reclaim. Just as Amelia had told him about his youth, Brigitte had told him the same thing about France. Unfortunately, he was beginning to think that they were both right.

Like Amelia, Brigitte had challenged him. The English Nero? Was that really how people thought about Henry? Sure, Charles could see how people might have thought like that. Henry's temper was legendary. His marriages were more than most would care to count. And of course, there was this whole war business. However, Nero played his fiddle as he watched Rome burn. Charles was confident that Henry would never let England burn. Or would he? Sometimes, Charles did not know what to think.


	41. As It Should Be

**A/N: Okay, now we're much closer to the end of this epic saga. This particular episode of the show did not cover a long period of time. However, the next two episodes take place over the course of three years, and a lot will happen in those three years. We are, after all, nearing the death of a King.**

* * *

21 August 1544

The gloomy feeling that permeated the air around the camp kept Charles awake in the evenings. It hung as heavy as a cloak on a man's shoulders, engulfing everything and everyone underneath it until it felt like they were suffocating. Although the King seemed to believe that there was no sickness within the camp, it was easy for Charles to see that most of the men around him were dying. The camp smelt of vomit, mud, and urine, with hints of blood and feces, depending on where you stood. It was dismal and hopeless.

It was on nights like these that Charles thought of his family. Amelia came to mind most frequently, images of her dancing with the children on a summer afternoon, or sleeping peacefully on a cold winter morning. She was always smiling, in his mind, even though he had seen her cry before. When they first met, she had been young and afraid. But now, she was strong, and held herself with a degree of diplomacy that rivalled her sister's.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his happy memories, and back into France. "What?" he asked, jumping as he turned over.

"I broke my promise," Brigitte whispered, kneeling down next to Charles's bed. "I escaped, but I came back." She paused for a moment. "You've got blood on your head!" she exclaimed softly.

Charles didn't move as she dipped the cloth in water and pressed it gently against his forehead. "Why did you come back?" Charles whispered.

"For you, Monsieur," she replied quietly, leaning closer to him.

"Mademoiselle," Charles said. "Mademoiselle, please."

Brigitte froze, and Charles looked at her. In his mind, he went back to the time that he had been seduced by a different Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Germaine. He remembered what had happened when Amelia had found out, how she had cried. Charles had promised himself not to make Amelia cry again.

"What is it?" Brigitte asked him.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, but I cannot," Charles said sincerely. "I have made a scorned woman out of my wife once, and I shall not do it again."

Brigitte sat back. "Then why do you keep me here if you do not wish for me to act as your mistress?"

"I cannot give you an answer to that," Charles replied, for even he didn't know.

* * *

15 September 1544

The French had surrendered 2 days earlier at Boulonge, and Amelia could not have been more thankful to hear the news that both her husband and her father were safe. They were most likely heading home, much to Amelia's delight.

She had been living with the Queen for the last few months, along with her sister. Philip had been called to Bavaria, as he was still the acting Duke. Since Mary had been pregnant when Philip needed to leave, she had not been able to go with her husband.

Mary's pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage, which left her devastated. Amelia was by her side for weeks afterwards. It took almost as long to convince Mary that everything would be alright, and that she still would be able to have more children, if she desired.

It was nice to have the Queen to help as well. Catherin had been as kind and as caring as Jane Seymour, and as intelligent as Anne Boleyn. Amelia suspected that she was a Protestant, a Reformer, but Amelia did not really care. She believed whatever the Church of England was deciding to believe, as not to annoy her father, but she understood that others had their own beliefs.

Charles had written separately to tell her of a woman he met, Brigitte, and how she had called the King "the English Nero." He said that he had kept her prisoner for a time, but released her when the battle was over. She reminded him of her, he said, which just made him want to get home all the sooner.

* * *

29 September 1544

"How did you find France?" Amelia asked. Her husband lounged on the bed, goblet of wine in hand, watching her as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

Through the reflection of the mirror, their eyes met. "It was beautiful, but not as beautiful as you," Charles replied. "France was much colder, much less welcoming, much less kind."

She turned to face him, a smile on her face. "I'm very happy that you're home, Charles," she said softly, taking a few steps towards him. She paused when he broke eye contact to look down at his glass. "What are you thinking?"

He smiled as she sat down next to him. "That I was dead in France, but am alive again," he responded. There was a pause, where they simply smiled at each other. "Let me look at you," he said softly.

Confused, Amelia rose to her feet and took a few steps back. Unsure of what to do, she simply twirled in her nightdress, a giggle falling from her lips. After she had turned, she looked back to her husband, who was simply staring at her. "Say something, Charles," she urged.

"That's unimportant," he replied.

Smiling still, Amelia sat back down on the bed, one hand reaching out to stroke her husband's face. "I am so glad that you are alright," she whispered. "We prayed daily for your safe return, and praise God that you are home."

"There's no place I'd rather be," Charles stated, kissing his wife gently.

* * *

30 September 1544

There was a celebration held for the King's victory at Bologne, and most of the English nobility was invited. Amelia found herself greeting most of the people who passed by, a smile plastered on her face that eventually made her cheeks hurt.

When she felt that she could no longer take it, she ducked behind a tapestry, sighing deeply as soon as she was away from the crowd.

"Duchess," someone said. "How are you?"

She turned to see Thomas Seymour standing next to her. "Forgive me, My Lord, I did not see you standing there," she replied. "I am doing well, just a little tired, is all. How are you?"

"I'm doing rather well, I suppose," Thomas responded. "I fear though that I may be off to Brussels soon. His Majesty is still keen on having me as the ambassador to the Low Countries. How is your husband? I heard he was ill."

Amelia looked at him with confusion. "Ill, My Lord?" she asked. "I think you have my husband confused with someone else. His Grace is of perfect health."

"But what if he were?" Thomas pressed, taking a step closer.

"I apologize, My Lord, but I do not understand what you wish for me to say," Amelia stated calmly, taking a step away.

"I think you do," Thomas pressed, stepping closer once again.

"No, I do not," Amelia insisted. "I must bid you farewell, My Lord."

As she slipped away, Thomas mentally kicked himself. The Duke of Suffolk was getting older, as was the King. Once they were both out of the way, the entire kingdom, maybe even the entirety of Europe would be scrambling for Amelia's hand. Whomever controlled Amelia would control the Prince, since the Prince looked to Amelia as a mother.

Thomas wanted to be the one in control. It would be one step over his older brother, at least. While Edward was an Earl, Thomas was only a Baron.

After her married Amelia, he would be a Prince.

* * *

Henry Howard watched as Amelia emerged from behind the tapestry, a confused expression on her face as she straightened her skirt. She was beautiful, he would give her that. She was regal and refined, much like Queen Catherin. Her daughters would likely be just like her. It was Henry's intention to have one of the Brandon girls married to one of his sons.

"Duchess," Henry called, making his way towards her. "It is a delight to see you at court."

"Thank you, My Lord," the startled woman replied. "I congratulate you on your victories during the campaign in Bologne."

"Thank you kindly, My Lady," Henry said. "Tell me, how is your husband? I have not seen him since our return from war. Is he well?"

She looked at him strangely. "Of course, My Lord," she responded. "In fact, he is standing right over there, having a conversation with the Lady Mary. How is your wife, My Lord? It has been a while since I have seen her at court."

"Frances is doing well," Henry responded. "In fact, she is home with our children right now. I'm not sure if your husband spoke to you, but I would quite like to see a union between our two families through our children."

Amelia's jaw dropped, and she was unable to think of what to say. Henry had caught her off guard. First, Thomas Seymour, then Henry Howard. What was happening?

"Duchess, a word?" a familiar voice asked. Both Amelia and Henry turned to see Edward Seymour standing a short distance away.

Henry cursed the older man for calling the Duchess away. He was a man of vile birth, and had no right to call the woman by such a familiar term, as he was allowed.

"Remember," Henry whispered into Amelia's ear as she went to leave, gripping her arm as he spoke. "I am the lion, he is a wolf."

* * *

Amelia simply shrugged off the Earl's arm, and walked quickly over to Edward.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at her with concern. "You look as though you've seen a spirit."

Amelia shook her head. "I've simply had some strange encounters today, that is all," she replied. "You wanted to speak to me, My Lord?"

"Yes," Edward said. "I wanted to ask after both the Prince and my own son. I have not been able to visit since I returned from France, and I am anxious to hear news of them."

Amelia smiled. "Prince Edward is doing just fine," she said. "He recovered marvelously from his illness, and he is soon to start learning more from his tutors. I believe he is excited. Thomas and Nicholas are getting along splendidly, and they make quite the pair. I do not believe that I have ever had to chase children as much as I have had to chase them."

"But he is healthy?" Edward pressed.

"Yes, very much so," Amelia replied. "You should be very proud of him, My Lord."

"Thank you, My Lady," Edward said. "I'm not quite sure what I would have done without you."

In truth, he really wasn't sure. He could not think of any other woman that he would want raising his son, save for his own wife. Edward watched as Amelia returned to her husband's side, a smile appearing on the older man's face as she approached.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" his brother asked, appearing beside him.

Edward turned to give his brother a confused look. "You mean Amelia?" he asked.

Thomas nodded. "Just think, if we had been in the King's favor when she had returned from Denmark, perhaps one of us would be married to her now," he said. "The Duke of Suffolk is getting very old, brother, and I fear that he may soon be taken from us. And when that happens, I will be at his widow's side, offering her comfort."

Edward gave his brother a stern look. "Be careful of what you say, brother," Edward said in a low voice. "Some might start to believe that you intend to marry the Lady Amelia."

"And some might be correct," Thomas replied.

Edward took a moment to process what his brother had said. Marry the widow of the Duke and the daughter of the King? That would make Amelia little more than a pawn. Additionally, whomever she married would help to raise his infant son. Edward personally did not believe that his brother would make a good parent. On top of that, he believed that Thomas would not make Amelia happy. After all, that is all the Edward wanted to see, although he could not explain exactly why he felt that way.


	42. Death of a Monarchy and Epilogue

**A/N: In history, Charles Brandon passed away suddenly and quietly on 22 August 1545. In real life, Charles did not have a French mistress. His final wife, Catherine Willoughby, was reportedly by his side the entire time, and mourned his death until her own in 1580. After Charles's death, Catherine went on to marry Richard Bertie, a member of her household who shared her beliefs as a reformer. It was rumored that King Henry VIII had considered taking Catherine Willoughby as a seventh wife.**

 **I'm going to mess around a little bit and make Henry see all three of his wives on the same day.**

* * *

After the new year, Charles had decided to retire from public life, and the King had allowed him to do so. After all, Charles was sixty years old. Amelia went with him back to Westhorpe, where they stayed together as a family.

Life had been peaceful since then. Charles helped teach the children as best he could. He began to teach the older boys how to handle swords and daggers, and helped everyone with dancing lessons by demonstrating waltzes with Amelia.

They lived in peace, and Amelia was content to remain with Charles in the English countryside until the Lord decided that it was time for him to leave.

She kept in contact with her sister and the Queen, writing to them frequently. Mary had written to tell her that she was pregnant again, and confident that this time, she would give her husband the son that she thought he deserved. The Queen wrote to update Amelia on her father's health and other happenings in the kingdom. Other than the Queen and Mary, Amelia had little contact with anyone else in the kingdom.

Then, one day, Charles developed a fever, and took to his bed. Fearing the worst, he summoned the priests to perform his last rites, as Amelia dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth, tears filling her eyes.

The next morning, he was gone. Amelia cried more, unable to control her tears. Charles had been the first person she had ever met when she had returned to England. He had been her best friend, her lover, and her confidant. Charles had been the one that she treasured and trusted above all others. And now, he was gone. There was change in the air for Amelia. She was a widow now, and terrified of what might happen to her next.

Charles asked for a private funeral in his will, a small and intimate service with Amelia, his children, and a few others. He had been a relatively private person, and the idea suited him well. However, Amelia was informed that the King would be taking over the plans for the funeral. Instead of a quiet burial, Charles would have a procession worthy of a king, and would be buried in St. George's Chapel at Windsor, at the King's expense.

Edward Seymour had attended Charles's funeral in place of the King. Amelia stood as strongly as she could muster, despite the crippling sadness that had taken hold of her. Only afterwards, when Edward came to give his condolences, did she collapse into his arms, sobbing over the loss of her closest friend. Edward did nothing more than hold her, which made her feel comforted.

Afterwards, she was relieved of most of her duties as a daughter of the King. She was excused when the French Admiral came to visit. But eventually, she knew she would be summoned to court to see her ailing father.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked, rising from his seat. There, in the doorway, behind the painter, stood the ghost of Catherine of Aragon.

"I have come to see my daughters," Catherine responded. "Why should that surprise you, Henry?"

He walked forward, barely believing his own eyes. Mary and Amelia entered, standing on either side of their mother.

"You have not always been kind to Mary," Catherine said. "I have wept so often to have seen her alone, abandoned by her father. And Amelia, my dear daughter, who you prevented me from meeting when she returned to England. I barely recognize the woman she has grown into, but I am proud of her all the same, even if you are not."

"Is that why you've come back, Catherine?" Henry asked. "To chide me for all that I am not?"

"I have missed all the things that a woman needs her mother for," Catherine replied. "I was not there to see them married, to rejoice when they quickened with child, to comfort them if they miscarried or rejoiced when my grandchildren were born. Especially my youngest daughter. I was not there for the loss of her husband last year. And still, they are not good enough for you?"

"Go away, shade," Henry whispered angrily. His tone then softened. "Go away, Catherine."

"You sent me away before, though I loved you" Catherine responded. "But I was still your wife in God's eyes, and still am."

With that, the three women disappeared before Henry's eyes, leaving him confused.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Henry asked, not bothering to turn around. After his encounter earlier that day, he knew that Anne Boleyn was standing behind him.

"To see my daughter," Anne replied. "She was the only pure thing in my life, and in my life, I neglected her, since she was only a girl, and I wanted so much to give you a son. But now, I am so proud of her. Fiercely proud. She is so clever. And though she is like me in so many ways, she is not intemperate as I was. You must be proud of her too, Henry. Amelia has been an excellent mother towards her. Though, in my life, I hated her, I see now the goodness in her that I dared not think of before."

"I am," he replied, not bothering to turn around and look at the apparitions. "I am very proud of her, and I know how clever she is, and I wish that I could love her more." He turned, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "But from time to time, she reminds me of you, and of what you did to me," he said, pointing his cane at her.

"I did nothing to you," Anne replied, stepping forwards towards him. "I was innocent. All the accusations made against me were false. I thought you knew," she finished softly. She paused for a moment, looking down. "Poor Katherine Howard," she continued quietly. "She lies in the cold ground next to me. Poor child. It was not her fault either, but we were like two moths, drawn to the flame, and burned."

Henry had turned away halfway through her speech, sobbing deeply over his two lost wives. "Anne, please don't!" he shouted as he turned, only to find that he was once again alone, with nothing but his memories to keep him company.

* * *

"How is my son?" a voice asked as Henry entered his chambers.

Henry paused. "Jane," he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue in a familiar manner. His head turned to see the woman standing there, looking just as she had all those years ago. He took a few steps towards her. "He is well," Henry replied. "I have taken all care of him, sweet Jane, and soon, he will be King." He smiled, thinking of his young son following in his footsteps.

She shook her head slowly and sadly. "My poor boy," she said, sounding as though she were on the edge of tears. "My poor child."

"No!" Henry retorted. "He is the most beloved. He is my special boy." He reached out his arm as Edward appeared, asking the child to come to him, but Jane put her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"He will die young," Jane stated.

"No!" Henry exclaimed. "No!" He turned and took a few steps away from the shades.

"Poor child," Jane continued. "You expected too much of him. He was only a boy. Kings, too, are made of clay, and God forbid, you sent him away to be raised by your daughter, who was little older than a child herself. Although I praise her now, she was a child when you sent my boy to live with her."

"No," Henry muttered, breathing hard.

"Don't you understand?" Jane asked. "You have killed him!"

"No," Henry murmured, collapsing against the wall and sobbing. He could not believe it. In fact, he refused to believe it. After all his bad luck, the Tudor Dynasty would not end with his son.

* * *

"Herewith, my Lords, is my testament," Henry stated. "When I am dead, my daughter, the Lady Amelia shall marry my Lord Hertford, for I could not bear to see her with someone other than the Duke of Suffolk while I am alive. My Lord Hertford will act as Lord Protector during Prince Edward's minority, and the Lady Amelia shall assist him in acting in the Prince's best interests. He will also be supported by my Lord Chancellor Risley, and Archbishop Cranmer. It is my desire to be buried next to the body of my true and loving wife, Queen Jane Seymour, at Windsor. You shall raise and honorable tomb, upon which will be our effigies, fashioned as if we are sweetly sleeping."

* * *

King Henry died on 28 January 1547. The entire Kingdom mourned his death.

On 30 January 1547, Lady Amelia Brandon, Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, married Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset. On that same evening, Edward Seymour was pronounced the Lord Protector of England for King Edward VI.

King Edward VI was crowned on 20 February 1547.

Edward and Amelia had a relatively happy marriage. Things were a bit awkward at first, and understandably so, as they had known each other for a long time. Before their marriage, he had created himself Duke of Somerset, to give himself what he felt was a title worthy of marrying a Princess. They only had one child together, a son that they named Charles, in honor of the late Duke of Suffolk. He was born in 1551.

Together, Amelia and Edward ensured that King Edward VI's short reign was a successful one. With the new monarch came opportunities to heal the wounds left by the previous one. They successfully negotiated a peace treaty with the Scots, one that did not include a betrothal for the young Queen. They also managed to negotiate successful treaties with France and the Holy Roman Empire. It helped that all countries involved were eager to restore the trade links destroyed by war.

Catherin Parr went on to marry Thomas Seymour, in secret, on 4 May 1547. Initially upset that the Dowager Queen had remarried, the people of England had eventually come to accept it, and even rejoiced when Catherine had given birth to a baby girl. However, the joy was short-lived, as Catherin died six days later on 5 September 1548. Amelia took the infant baby in, although the child died shortly after her mother did, leaving Amelia heartbroken for the late Queen.

Thomas Seymour was arrested in January of 1549 and executed 2 months later, after it was revealed that he was planning to kidnap and marry the Princess Elizabeth, as well as usurp his older brother and kidnap the King.

In January 1552, the Duke of Northumberland, attempted to get rid of Edward Seymour and establish himself as Lord Protector. His efforts failed, however, due to the reforms that Edward and Amelia had introduced, which made England more prosperous than it had been for decades.

In June of 1553, crisis struck as King Edward VI lay dying. He had not been married, so he had no direct heirs. Although Amelia was fine with the crown passing to her sister, the King was not. In his last will and testament, he signed the crown over to his nephew and Amelia's son, John.

Mary, naturally, was furious, and attempted to seize the crown for herself. The people of England, however, backed John's claim. She left England with her husband and three daughters, and spent the remainder of her life in Bavaria. She passed away on 17 November 1558. Her daughters were never heard from again, although many believe that her eldest became a Duchess in some capacity.

As for the Princess Elizabeth, she eventually married Charles II de Valois, Duc d'Orléans, in 1550. She was seventeen years old, and he was twenty-eight. Charles was a handsome, charming man by all accounts, and Elizabeth quickly found herself falling in love. Their marriage helped to strengthen the ties that existed between England and France. Together, they had seven children, two boys and five girls.

John Brandon went on to be crowned King John II. He was nineteen years old when he took the throne, and reminded everyone of his grandfather when he first took the crown. John was tall and muscular, as a result of Amelia's encouragement of activity in his youth. His wife, Frances Hastings, was crowned Queen consort shortly afterwards, and had tremendous influence over her husband's dealings. The couple had three sons and one daughter that survived to adulthood. Their oldest son, William, took the throne after John's death. The House of Brandon is the longest continuing house in English history, with a member still sitting on the throne today. Like his father, he lived to be about sixty years old, passing away 1592. His wife outlived him by three years.

Amelia and Edward quietly exited from public life after John had been crowned. Amelia was thirty years old, and Edward was fifty-three. They still continued to offer John advice when he asked for it, but they mainly allowed him to figure out how to run the kingdom in a way that worked for him. After all, he remembered the disastrous end to Henry VIII's kingdom.

King John II was also known as John the Peaceful. His domestic policy soothed over religious discourse in England by allowing all religions to be practiced. He continued to reform the Church of England to reduce corruption, but did nothing to prevent the spread of Catholicism and Protestantism throughout the Kingdom. His foreign policy consisted of nonaggression treaties with various nations, mostly on the promise of keeping trade open. King John II went down in history as one of England's most successful kings.

Because John was crowned, the title of Duke of Suffolk was passed on to Owen Brandon. In 1556, when he was twenty years old, he married Jane FitzAlan, the daughter of Henry FitzAlan, 19th Earl of Arundel. The couple had three children, a son and two daughters, who went on to carry the title of Duke of Suffolk until 1782. Owen's wife died in 1567, after giving birth to their son, which devastated Owen. He never remarried, and devoted his life to making sure his children were properly raised. He passed in 1595, after living a long and fulfilling life.

Eleanor Brandon became renown for her intelligence, wit, and beauty, which attracted suitors from all over the globe. Many said that she looked just like her mother. By the time she was twelve years old, she had already received numerous marriage proposals from nobles all across Europe. However, her choice fell upon Gabriel de la Cueva, the 5th Duke of Alburquerque, a Spanish nobleman and military leader, who eventually became Viceroy of Navarre and Governor of the Duchy of Milan. They married in 1551 when she was only fourteen, and he was thirty-six. Eleanor's wedding was met with great disapproval. However, Amelia eventually came to accept the match. They had two daughters. Gabriel passed in 1571. Eleanor's second marriage was the following year to Luis de Requesens y Zúñiga, who became the Governor of Milan. In 1575, an outbreak of a plague claimed Eleanor's life. Her second husband outlived her by only one year.

Jane Brandon, like her sister, was desirable. However, her mother had discovered that Charles contracted her to marry the eldest son of Henry Howard, the former Earl of Surrey. Despite the fact that the Earl had been executed in 1547, his eldest son was still created Duke of Norfolk. Jane married Thomas Howard in 1556, when she was seventeen years old and he was twenty. Thomas held several public offices throughout John's reign. The couple reportedly had a strained marriage, as Thomas kept trying to use his position as brother-in-law to the King to gain power, but both his wife and the King were resistant to it. Despite this, they had one child, a daughter named Amelia. Thomas had at least three illegitimate children outside their marriage, which caused him to lose favor with the crown. In 1571, he was imprisoned on suspicion that he was plotting to put Mary, Queen of Scots on the English throne to restore Catholicism. He was executed in 1572, and made Jane a very rich widow. She never remarried, and passed her fortunes on to her daughter upon her death in 1589 at the age of fifty.

Amelia Howard, ashamed of the Howard name, never married. She acted as a governess to the royal children and used her fortunes to start a school to train others to become teachers. The school still exists in London to this day, named the Howard Teachers' College in her honor.

Nicholas Brandon was created Duke of Gloucester by his older brother when he was thirteen years old. In 1561, he married Dorothea of Denmark, the daughter of King Christian III of Denmark and Norway, when he was twenty-one and she was fifteen. Nicholas spoiled his wife, and spent large sums of money on gifts for her. His spending habits often caused him to go bankrupt, but he always managed to make back the money that he lost. Together, he and Dorothea had eight children, six boys and two girls, who carried the Duke of Gloucester name until 1815. Nicholas passed in 1605, at the age of sixty-five. His wife outlived him by twelve years.

Thomas Seymour and Philippa Brandon married in 1562 when they were both twenty years old. They had been raised together, and were as close as two people could be. Edward and Amelia knew that it was no use denying them, and that they would likely marry in secret if they did not get permission. Thomas inherited the title of Baron Sudeley from his uncle following his death in 1549. After Edward's death, Thomas inherited the title of Duke of Somerset. Thomas became an important advisor to both King John II and King William III. Philippa was known as one of the most charitable women in all of England, caring mostly for those who had been orphaned by disease. Since she had never really known her father, she felt as though she understood them. The couple had seven children of their own, all boys. Thomas and Philippa both died on the same day in 1611, each at the age of sixty-nine, within hours of one another. They were never separated for more than a day at a time their entire lives.

Charles Seymour was the only child of Edward and Amelia, and raised alongside John's eldest son, William. The two were fast friends, and Charles was given great favor when William became King. When Edward died, Charles inherited the title of Earl of Hertford. In 1575, when he was twenty-four years old, he married nineteen-year-old Marguerite de Bourbon, the oldest daughter of Louis, Prince of Condé. It was a happy match, and they went on to have two sons, who carried the title of Earl of Hertford to the present day. Charles died at the age of seventy-three in 1624, outliving all of his half-siblings and his wife, who died in 1612.

As for Amelia and Edward, they simply sat back and watched their children grow and take their place in the world. Edward passed quietly in his sleep in 1568, leaving Amelia a widow once more. Amelia continued to live as a widow, retiring to the English countryside and only returning to London for official duties. She passed away in 1590 at the age of seventy-three, outliving two of her daughters. She passed with a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart, ready to see all of those who had gone before her.


	43. A Postscript

Hey guys! I couldn't get Amelia's story out of my head, so I decided that I needed to write a sequel. It will start right after King Henry VIII's death and take a look at how I think Amelia would have influenced history. It's called _The Mother of Kings_. If you enjoyed _An Endless Supply of Rubies_ , feel free to check it out!


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